


Bloody Roses

by The_Sad_Hatter



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst Free, Bucky builds furniture, Bucky's a bit of a charmer, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Falling In Love, Flirty Bucky, Fluff, Injured Bucky, Just comfort, Mutual Pining, That's not how you flirt, There's slow burn angst, Tooth Rotting Fluff, Well - Freeform, and there's baking, and there's two idiots in love, bucky no, but no drama, lots of swooning, mutual unrequited love, no danger, there's a dog
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2020-03-29 15:12:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19022473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Sad_Hatter/pseuds/The_Sad_Hatter
Summary: What you thought was a trapped squirrel turned out to be a super soldier in need. It’s not every day an Avenger turns up in your garden, in serious need of help but you deal with it as best as you can.And then, he keeps coming back.





	1. Chapter 1

Isolation.

 

For most people, it was a bad thing. Not for you though, for you it was a choice.

 

It wasn’t that you didn’t like people, you liked them just fine. It was just that they drained you, no matter how much you liked them. You liked your own company, well, your own and Othello’s.

 

Othello liked people as well, and he was a little more energetic than you were. Most dogs were like that though, that’s why you loved having him around. When you were running on empty, he would kick your ass into gear.

 

Like now.

 

His incessant and loud barking alerted you to the fact that something was wrong and you jumped up from the couch, peering out of the window. He was stood at the tree line at the back of the property, yapping loudly at something. It was probably another squirrel getting trapped in the underbrush and you sighed and twisted your cardigan around your waist before you ran out, jogging across the lawn to see what had wound the German Sheppard up into such a frenzy.

 

It was not a fucking squirrel.

 

It was a very big, very scary, very blood soaked man.

 

He had his hand held out in front of him, you thought at first he was trying to coax Othello over but quickly realised he was doing the opposite. You also realised that while your mind had assigned the silvery glint to a glove, he actually had a metal arm.

 

Why the fuck was an Avenger bleeding to death in your garden?

 

“Mr Barnes? Sergeant Barnes? Mr Winter Soldier Sir, you’re bleeding on my roses.” You informed him, holding your hands out to the side to show you were unarmed as you slowly made your way closer to him.

 

He frowned at you, utterly perplexed before he looked down and stepped back. Well more like stumbled.

 

“Sorry ma’am.” He rasped.

 

“Hey now, it’s ok. I was only joking.” You said gently as you approached.  

 

“Don’t come any closer.” He put his hand back up, trying to keep you away as he swayed on his feet.

 

“Then who’s going to catch you when you fall?” You asked him and he looked even more confused, before just as you’d predicted, he lost his balance and tipped over.

 

You rushed forwards, skidding along the ground to break his fall before he could faceplant into the rosebush. He was heavier than he looked, which considering he looked like 6ft of pure muscle, was saying something. You ended up on your knees with his torso splayed across your lap and his head on your shoulder. Even mostly passed out he was still struggling, trying to get away from you.

 

“I’m not going to hurt you, _I swear_. But you’re bleeding pretty heavily and if you don’t let me help you I don’t think you’ll survive long enough for help to arrive. Please.” You begged.

 

He stilled and you thought he’d finally succumbed to unconsciousness until he nodded once against your shoulder.

 

“If I help you, can you stand?” You asked and he nodded again.

 

It took a lot of work but you got him sitting on his knees while you stood up and slung his metal arm over your shoulder. You couldn’t take a lot of his weight but you took enough to be mostly responsible for his balance as you slowly led him into the house. Othello was not a lot of help but he was a pretty good guide, leading you over to the couch and waiting for you to help the injured super soldier onto it.

 

“Who… who are you?” Bucky asked.

 

You whispered your name and he repeated it softly before finally letting the blood loss and pain pull him under.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

A soft boof from Othello alerted you to the fact that your unexpected visitor was awake, making you hurry back through the house to his side. He was grimacing as he tried to pull himself into a sitting position.

 

“Um, no.” You admonished, taking a hold of his shoulder and pushing him back down.

 

Even weak, suffering from four (you’d counted) bullet wounds and blood loss, he was too strong for you and instead of lying down he gave you a look that was admonishing, tinged with amusement. Until his vision swam and he thumped back down on the pillow you’d put under his head.

 

“What did you do to me?” He slurred.

 

“I’m not the one who shot you, or stabbed you, or slashed you. I _am_ the person who stitched you up, albeit very badly, but my sewing credits prior to this only really includes two blouses and a cushion cover.” You admitted.

 

He looked around the room, paying special attention to Othello and it seemed to dawn on him where he was. He looked back over at you with consideration.

 

“How long was I out?” He asked.

 

“About sixteen hours.” You told him, slowly leaning forward to see if he’d let you check his wounds or if he would push you away.

 

“You didn’t consider calling an ambulance?” He scoffed as you put the back of your hand to his forehead to check his temperature.

 

“No, I did. But then I realised that I didn’t know who shot you or where they were. What if they got a hold of you? So I tried calling Stark tower but unsurprisingly, they wouldn’t put me through to anyone.” You said, rolling your eyes.

 

“That was actually smart. If you called an ambulance for The Winter Soldier, Hydra might have gotten to me before the team did.” He said softly, patting Othello on the head.

 

“I checked you for a mobile or one of those weird comm thingies but I couldn’t find anything so I just had to stitch you up and hope for the best to be honest. Thanks for not dying on my couch.”

 

He barked out a laugh at the strange declaration of gratitude and started enthusiastically scratching behind the dog’s ears. Othello tilted his head to give Bucky better access, his tongue lolling out.

 

“Do you know a number you can call for one of your buddies to come and get you? You can use my phone.” You offered.

 

“Sick of my company already doll?” He said easily, smirking a little.

 

“Well usually when I have a naked man on my couch he’s not bleeding _quite_ as much.” You told him with a smirk, pulling your phone out of your pocket and handing it to him.

 

He frowned and lifted the edge of the blanket, seeing if you were telling the truth.

 

“At ease soldier, I didn’t sneak a peek. I covered you with the blanket.” You sniggered.

 

“Still think you owe me dinner.” He shot back as he typed in a number and passed the phone over to you.

 

It was ringing in your hand and he looked at you expectantly. You looked between him and the phone in alarm.

 

“Please tell me I’m not about to get through to Captain America, or Iron man or something?” You hissed at him while he settled back on the pillow casually to watch the oncoming show.

 

“Who is this?” A deep, male voice asked.

 

“I have Bucky Barnes here.” You said, without thinking.

 

There was a brief pause on the other end and Bucky’s shoulders shook with laughter at your ill thought out greeting.

 

“Who is this?” The man asked again, harsher this time.

 

“Look he’s alive. Can’t say how long he’ll remain that way though. Can you please just come and get him? No ransom, just take him. In fact I’ll pay _you_!”

 

“Um, pardon?”

 

“Captain Rogers I assume?” You sighed.

 

“…..”

 

“Look, your dumbass friend stumbled into my garden half dead and bleeding all over my flowers. I took him inside where he bled all over my couch and passed out. He alive and awake and being a little asshole, please save me?” You begged.

 

There was a deep chuckle on the phone and Bucky sniggered at you.

 

“I’m tracking your coordinates. We’ll come pick him up ma’am. Is he there? Can you put him on?” The Captain asked and you guessed he was suspicious of a trap.

 

“Hey doll, where are my pants?” Bucky asked loudly.

 

“I’ll put him on.” You said, deadpan.

 

You held the phone out to Bucky, glaring daggers at him all the while. He took it from you with an innocent ‘butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth’ look and put it to his ear.

 

“Steve?”

 

“No, I’m ok. I went into the water, ended up a few miles downstream. Walked for a few miles before my guardian angel found me.” He explained and you got up and wandered away, giving him privacy.

 

You busied yourself with refolding his tactical suit and putting it where he could see it on the table, next to his terrifyingly impressive pile of weapons.

 

“They’ll be here in the hour.” Bucky called over to you.

 

“K.” You called back, pottering around the kitchen.

 

You came back with a bowl of broth and a large glass of water on a tray for him. You carefully placed it on his lap, missing the way he looked up at you like you were something of an actual guardian angel.

 

“Are you not eating?” He frowned, stirring the broth with the provided spoon.

 

“Why would I willingly eat broth?” You scoffed, sitting on the armchair and reaching down the side of it for the bag of chips you kept there.

 

As soon as he heard the bag crinkle, Othello left his place at Bucky’s side and hurried over, sitting in front of you. You made a big show of sharing the chips with the dog, shooting little smug looks at Bucky every so often.

 

“Super Soldiers have a heightened metabolism.” He said snippely.

 

You paused mid chewing and huffed in annoyance before tossing the bag of chips over to him.

 

“Come into my house, bleed all over my stuff, make me make a fool of myself to Captain fucking America and now he’s stealing my chips?” You grumbled to yourself as you stood up and stomped away, but he grabbed a hold of your hand as you passed by and pulled you back until you looked at him.

 

“You saved my life, got through to me when I was being too stubborn to trust you and you kept me safe. I don’t have words to convey how grateful I am for that, doll.” He said, his words heartfelt.

 

You melted at the way he said it and the way he was looking at you. To make matters worse, he lifted your hand to his lips and brushed the tenderest of kissed to the back of your hand.

 

“You should finish eating and get dressed. I don’t know how I’d begin to explain this to them.” You said, gesturing to his body.

 

He nodded and before you could react he pushed the tray onto the table and stood up. The blanket slid down over his abs and you saw where the thin vertical trail of hair blended into the coarser hair of his groin before you managed to turn away, nearly breaking your neck in the process. Your heart was absolutely thundering in your chest, making your blood rush through your body and gathering on your face, turning your skin an impressive shade of red as you blushed.

 

“Shit. That was, well, ungentlemanly of me. Fuck, I’m sorry.” He said quickly.

 

“It’s really good. I mean it’s all ok. Fantastic. I’ll leave you to it.” You babbled, trying to escape.

 

Neither of you seemed to notice that he still had a hold of your hand and when you tried to rush away, you ended up being yanked back, slamming into his chest. He let out a grunt of pain and you a squeak of surprise as you put your hand on his chest to steady yourself.

 

“Well… now you really owe me dinner.” He joked, but there was no amusement.

 

He swallowed thickly, looking down at you with wide eyes and parted lips as you let out a soft gasp, a forced exhale more than anything.

 

Somehow, the superhero you barely knew was standing naked in your living room and you were tightly pressed against his body. It should have been embarrassing, it should have been awkward, but it wasn’t.

 

“I should…” You said weakly, gesturing behind yourself and he nodded in understanding.

 

You kept your eyes on the opposite side of the room from him as you moved away, resisting the urge to turn back as you walked stiffly to the kitchen. You grabbed a hold of the counter for balance and tried to contain your internal freak out. This wasn’t normal, having gorgeous men drop from the sky and end up in compromising positions with you. This was insane.

 

It was a very weird, yet very wonderful dream. And it was about to end.

 

You heard the strange buzzing sound drawing nearer and looked around in alarm, Othello jumping around madly and barking.

 

“It’s the quinjet.” Bucky explained, appearing at the kitchen door.

 

“Oh.” You said, swallowing down your disappointment.

 

“I really am grateful. If you hadn’t have…”

 

“It’s fine.” You interrupted.

 

“But really, I could have died if not for you.” He continued.

 

“I’m just a concerned citizen doing her civic duty.” You said, waving him off.

 

“Right.”

 

“Right.”

 

There was a minor commotion in the backyard as the sleek quinjet landed, far quieter than you had actually expected. Bucky strode over to the door and opened it, sticking his hand out and waving. Othello hustled past him, running for the descending ramp and Bucky looked back at you helplessly.

 

“Leave him, he’s a good boy. He just wants to say hi.” You said.

 

“So… I should go. I mean, I have to go.” He said, running his hand through his hair as he looked around for a way to stall.

 

“I would say it was nice to meet you but you actually scared the hell out of me.” You laughed.

 

“Sorry.” He cringed.

 

“I thought you were dying. I wasn’t afraid of _you._ ” You amended.

 

“Still, I’m sorry. And grateful. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?” He asked with an almost hopeful glint in his eye.

 

“Just keep saving the world Sarge.” You told him.

 

“I’ll try. That number you called for me? If you ever need anything…. _Anything_ then call it and ask for me.” He instructed.

 

“I’ll remember that.” You said, smiling sadly.

 

There was no more words to be said, no more stalling. Your brief adventure was over. Your too short a time with Bucky Barnes was drawing to a close. But he was unwilling to just leave it on a simple note and leant over slowly, gauging your reaction before pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth, deliberately missing your cheek. Your eyes fluttered closed as you savoured the moment and when you opened them again, it was to an empty kitchen.

 

Bucky saw Steve knelt on the ramp, attention fully consumed by Othello who he was busy rubbing down and talking at joyfully. Before his friend could notice him Bucky darted behind the quinjet, back to the stop at the edge of the lawn where he’d first seen you and with a wistfull smile, plucked a Rose from the carefully tended bush. He gently tucked it in his inner breast pocket before making his way up the ramp and saying good bye to Othello (after dragging him and Steve apart).

 

“What, don’t I get to meet your angel? I even made Sam stay behind so you’d introduce me to her.” Steve pouted.

 

Bucky looked back at the house, seeing you stood at the back door, waving to him and Othello sat at your feet.

 

“Next time pal, next time.”


	2. Chapter 2

The Winter Soldiers absence had strangely left something of a chasm in your chest, an aching void. You were somehow empty and heavier at the same time, carrying the heavy weight of what was missing with every step you took. Everything you did seemed to take longer and had much less reward. It was wholly unlike you to get attached to people, and it never happened this quickly.

 

People in general were like a loud buzzing in your head, they made your skin feel too tight and your heart beat a little too fast. It wasn’t full blown anxiety, more like a quiet discomfort. It was easily hidden, and usually you ignored it so you could persevere. It actually took you a few days to realise that Bucky hadn’t made you feel uncomfortable at all, he hadn’t triggered that stifled feeling.

 

There was a strange juxtaposition between your dislike of company and you human need for companionship, it’s why you befriended Othello. So while Bucky hadn’t been around for long, his absence was felt.

 

Over the next week, that aching chasm numbed though. You went about your day to day life, walking Othello, baking, gardening, painting… Whatever random artistic endeavour you wanted to try out and inevitably abandon in an attempt to keep yourself amused, keep your life going, keep yourself soldiering on instead of just festering away.

 

Today it was knitting, because you’d seen a youtube video about making blankets from giant wool with just your arms. That had ended spectacularly badly, thpugh Othello had fun. It had however, led to you deciding to try actual knitting, with actual needles and wool. When Othello started barking at the door, you were tangled up in a long strand of periwinkle blue and had resorted to cussing it out in the hope your foul language would free you. Doing a weird twisting move to get free you made your way to the door, pulling it open and peering out.

 

There were several boxes on the deck with a clipboard resting atop them. You pulled the door open to see John, the delivery guy pretending to be very interested in the bushes that lined the driveway. He did this every time, tried to be subtle about giving you space. You appreciated it, and made sure he knew it with the tip you always left. You signed for the delivery and picked a box up, pushing the others over the threshold with your foot.

 

As soon as you closed the front door you used your keys to cut through the tape and started unpacking the new books you’d ordered.

 

“What do you think, is there room in the upstairs hallway for these?” You asked Othello.

 

He barked and shook his fur out.

 

“Fair point, maybe by the window seat I keep meaning to build?” You suggested.

 

“Boof”

 

“I will so get it done! Right after I build that porch swing.” You gasped, thoroughly offended.

 

Ultimately, the books stayed in the box, at least for the time being and you went back to trying to * **not** * stab yourself with a knitting needle. After making the worlds thinnest scarf (“You have fur so I did this on purpose, I didn’t want you to overheat.”) you got frustrated and bored, giving in and curling up on the sofa with your laptop.

 

The cursor hovered over Microsoft word for a moment while you chewed your lip and tried to bring yourself to click on it but as was the norm lately, you went for Chrome instead. You had just enough dregs of energy to click on Facebook and assure the minimal amount of friends and family who pretended to care that you were in fact, still alive.

 

You were 100% convinced that the rumours that Facebooks advertising algorithm could read your mind were true because right there at the top of your feed was a news article. Apparently The Avengers had been caught up in another scrape. Before you could catch yourself you clicked on it, quickly scrolling through the article. It was remarkably vague but posturing, so the press didn’t know what The Avengers had actually been doing then. They did know that Earth’s Mightiest had won.

 

It was strange to thin that you had had one of them on this here couch, life in your hands. And like your thoughts had summoned him, there he was in HD. Pictures didn’t do him any justice. Yes, he was handsome in a photo but it couldn’t capture the tenor of his voice, the glint of light in his eye or the way that despite falling in a river and walking several miles in his own blood, he still smelled divinely sexy.

 

There was a minute, tiny, very high chance you had developed a lingering crush on the man out of time who had literally stumbled into your life. He was dark, tortured, charming, funny, gorgeous and strong, all strong ingredients in a crush. Most importantly, the strongest factor, guaranteed to make you fall… he was fleeting. He was a feather on the breeze, the rays of light at sunset, the crashing waves of a cerulean sea. Beautiful and gone too soon, leaving nothing but the awing memory of the beauty you had once bore witness to behind.

 

You ploughed through the article, breathing a sigh of relief when you read that eyewitnesses had seen The Soldier leaving the scene unharmed. You were relieved but… the aching void had returned.

 

You tried to distract yourself, knowing it was futile but going ahead with the attempt anyway. In the end, as predicted, your mind could not be coaxed off of the topic of the stormy eyed sergeant. You had a number you could call if you needed him but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t come up with a good enough reason to call.

 

You could call and say you were worried one of his enemies had tracked him here but that wasn’t close to true and you couldn’t bring yourself to worry him about it. If you had gotten the correct measure of him, and you were certain you had, he would immediately feel guilty and would panic.  Truthfully, you doubted you would make that call even if there was truth to it. But that kind of left you at a loss as to reasons to seek him out again.

 

The truth was that even though you had a solid feeling in your gut that you shouldn’t let him leave your life, you had to let go.

 

Bucky Barnes had no place in your world, and you very much doubted he would want to be in it anyway.

 

So you went to bed that night, knowing you would be thinking about him as you fell asleep, knowing you would dream about him and knowing that he would never be more than that, a beautiful dream.

 

Othello pushed himself into the small of your back, letting you lean on him while you lay your head out on the pillow and closed your eyes, and remembered to press of Bucky Barnes lips so tantalizingly close to your own. It was the image that carried you off to dreamland, and that’s where you stayed until after the sun had risen over the horizon.

 

You knew that a specific sound had woken you, a loud buzzing sound, relentless and loud but for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out what it was. A lawnmower? But that begged the very important question… who the fuck was mowing your lawn? You groaned loudly and flopped onto your back, glaring up at the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling as if they might be responsible. Eventually you sat up, flinging the duvet away  and stomping over to the window to look outside.

 

Not a lawnmower, a Buzzsaw. Your unused, should be in the shed, Buzzsaw. Someone was slicing planks of wood in your garden and you actually recognized the pulled back brunette hair before you recognized the glinting metal arm. Your heart summersaulted in your chest and a kaleidoscope of butterflies burst to life in your stomach as you pushed out of the French doors and hung over the edge of the balcony. Othello saw you and barked happily, wagging his tail. Bucky switched the saw off and turned around to lean against the table, arms crossed and gazing up at you with a charming, cock-sure grin.

 

“Hey Romeo, whatcha doing?” You called down to him.

 

He chuckled and scratched Othello on top of the head before he answered.

 

“You never called sweetheart, and I still felt like I owed you. I remembered seeing a lot of books lying around when I was here so I decided to come and build you some bookshelves.” He explained.

 

“Uh huh. How’d my dog get out there? And how did you get into my shed?” You asked, trying to contain the giddy smile threatening to break across your face. `

 

“I picked the lock, didn’t want to wake you and this guy was scratching at the door. As for the shed, I wanted to see if you had any tools before I went to get the stuff I needed. Surprisingly, you had everything I needed, all brand new and unused?” He said, lilting at the end to signify he was curious about the state he’d found the shed in.

 

“I may have decided to take up woodworking a while ago. There were setbacks.” You admitted, ducking your head in embarrassment.

 

“What happened?” He asked in a teasing voice.

 

“I turned the saw on and it scared the hell out of me. That thing is dangerous!” You explained.

 

Bucky threw back his head and let out a full throated laugh, unrestrained in his amusement at your predicament.

 

“Not if you’re partially made of metal.” He said, still laughing.

 

“Saws can cut through metal!” You insisted.

 

He arched an eyebrow at you and reached behind himself to flick the saw on, before he turned around, holding his metal arm over the rotating circular blade.

 

“DON’T YOU DARE!” You shrieked, but it was too late.

 

His metal fingers came into contact with the saw and you thought you were going to be sick but to your absolute disbelief and wonder, the saw shuddered to a halt for a few seconds before he moved his hand away and flicked the switch again. He turned back around to see you hanging over the railing of the balcony, hand held to your heart and an expression between fear and fury on your face.

 

“Doll, my arms made of Vibranium. Nothing can cut through it.” He soothed.

 

“Next time, tell me that!”

 

“Sorry! I’m sorry.” He said quickly, but you could still see the smug amusement on his face.

 

“It is RUDE to break into someone’s house and give them a heart attack before they’ve even had coffee.” You half grumbled, half gasped as you righted yourself, glaring down at him.

 

Not that your glare lasted more than half a second before it melted into a fond smile. Something he definitely noticed because he perked up and beckoned you down.

 

“I figured out your ridiculous contraption and made a pot of coffee actually, I do have _some_ manners.” He informed you.

 

You didn’t need telling twice and did your best roadrunner impression as you whooshed through the balcony doors and padded down to the kitchen, only just remembering to grab your nightrobe on the way. You shrugged it over your shoulders and tied the sash as you perused the cupboard for a suitable mug.

 

You liked collecting mugs, from ones with funny captions, to photo mugs, to your personal favourites… The Disney Collection. Today felt like a dopey the dwarf day and you fetched the giant cup from the correct cupboard and filled it with the steaming coffee, inhaling deeply to enjoy the smell. You heard the door open behind you, seconds before a cold wet snout was pressed the back of your knee.

 

“Morning traitor.” You said amicably to Othello, gently flicking his ear.

 

“Morning sweetheart.”

 

You turned around to greet Bucky, trying to shove down the voice in your head screaming at how _right_ he looked stood in your kitchen, illuminated by the early morning sun and sipping coffee out of your oversized Grumpy Mug.

 

“Mornin Sarge. Top up?” You offered and he held the mug out for you to refill it for him.

 

It felt strangely domestic and natural considering he was a near stranger. Who had technically broken in…

 

“Do you have a pen?” he asked and you pulled open the knick knack drawer under the microwave and dug one out and tossing it to him.

 

“Actually it’s for you. I was wondering if you might sign something for me?” He asked sheepishly, pulling a book out of the back of his waistband and sliding it across the counter to you. When you saw the cover, your stomach dropped.

The Life Of Death.

 

“You looked into me.” You scoffed, shaking your head.

 

“I didn’t. Stark did, he gave me the book, didn’t tell me you wrote it until after I read it.” He defended himself.

 

“You read it?” You sighed.

 

“I did. It was beautiful. Really. The idea that Death fell in love with humanity, slowly becoming more and more human himself and when the gods found out they ripped the flesh from his bones, leaving nothing but the Grim reaper behind… but he never stopped loving humanity, shepherding them to the other side and asking them to tell him their stories, even when they feared him. It was tragic but there was still hope in it.” He said softly, and you could tell he meant it.

 

You could feel the weight of his gaze, the silent assurance that he’d gotten the hidden message in the book. Death didn’t let what had been done to him change who he was, he kept his curiosity and compassion intact, even when his body was ripped apart.

 

He was still holding the pen out to you and you sighed and took it, flipping the jacket of the book open and scribbling something, slamming it closed and handing the book back to him before he could see what you’d written.

 

“Why aren’t you more proud? You wrote a novel, a damn good one.” He questioned.

 

“All I ever wanted to do was write, to connect with people and give them some kind of hope. Didn’t work out the way I expected. I _am_ proud, I am but… the books a reminder of my failings more than my achievements sometimes.” You said tiredly.

 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.” He said.

 

His eyes were heavy with guilt, regret etched into the frown lines on his face.

 

“Don’t be sorry for trying to give me a compliment, it’s not your fault I’m not great at taking them.”

 

He looked you up and down, almost like he was sizing you up before the corner of his lip twitched minutely, drawing up into the flicker of an almost smirk.

 

“You’re beautiful.”

 

The breath you’d been in the process of inhaling froze in your lungs, suspended in your airway as the painfully raw, honest, heartfelt compliment passed his lips. Your shock lasted only a brief second because while you’d been telling the truth about not taking compliments well, you were a fucking master at reigning in your embarrassment and anxiety’s to regain the upper hand in a situation. Spitefulness could achieve what years of therapy could not.

 

“And you’re exquisitely stunning , Sarge.” You said back, equally as honest.

 

His eyes widened and his jaw loosened. He blinked at you, once, twice, three times and swallowed the lump in his throat before his brain kicked back in. A deep chuckle vibrated from his broad chest and it was a warm, soul soothing sound.

 

“I’ll build the shelves and repay my debt, should be done before lunch and then I’ll be out of your hair. Unless…” He started, looking at you with unabashed hope.

 

“Unless?”

 

“Well since I’m here and not afraid of the power tools, anything else you need built or fixed?” He offered.

 

You chewed your lip and thought it over.

 

“Do you want to help me build a porch swing?” You asked.

 

His whole face lit up, brighter than the sun and he smiled so wide and happily that you felt your heart crack a little.

 

“I’ll even make you lunch.” You quickly offered, knowing he was already going to say yes anyway.

 

“S’long as it’s not broth, you’ve got yourself a deal darlin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so... If you've read any of my other fics you may notice a slight difference in style with this one. That's because this fic is kind of more me than the others. I'm writing this one selfishly, it's very much my comfort fic. I actually had to go back and edit because Bucky called the reader by name a few times. But it's such a fluffy, warm, drama free fic that I'm hoping it provides a little bit of comfort for someone else as well. It's a safe haven.


	3. Chapter 3

You were by no means the worlds best chef but you could cook. Actually, you were pretty damn good. It was usually presentation that you struggled with, not taste. Bucky seemed like someone who appreciated taste more than looks though (you hoped). You never had any reason to actually cook though so you just settled for shoving something in the oven most days. But with Bucky here….

 

You dug out all the ingredients for shortcrust pastry and made the dough, leaving it to chill in the fridge while you ran back upstairs to shower. It was the fastest shower of your life because you were painfully aware of the fact that he was in your garden.

 

He had come back.

 

The happiness you felt from that was impossibly bright and beautiful. It was like walking around with liquid sunshine in your veins, making you feel warm and happy inside. You had wanted him to return and your wish had been granted and he brought with him an optimistic excitement.

 

You used your favourite shower gel, the one you saved for good days and the more expensive shampoo and conditioners instead of the normal ones. When you were feeling this happy you wanted to feel it in everything you did so you made sure to treat your body, lavishing it with care so it felt as light and content as your soul did. Still, you didn’t linger.

 

You tied your damp hair into a messy plait as you skipped downstairs, peeking out of the windows into the backyard as you went. He had his back to the windows as he sanded down the edges of a plank of wood and added to the pile. The comically large pile.

 

You knocked on the glass and opened the window a crack so you could hear each other.

 

“So exactly how long have you been skulking around my property while I slept?” You asked, waving to the planks of dark cherry wood.

 

“Four and a half hours?” He shrugged.

 

You raised an eyebrow at him and he had the grace to look somewhat sheepish but the truth was, you got it. If it was anyone else it would be creepy and strange but it was him. There was an ease and comfort there that meant him wandering around and building furniture didn’t feel weird at all. It felt like he belonged here.

 

“How many bookshelves are you building?” You asked him, grinning.

 

“Well you have a lot of books and I only saw two rooms.” He answered.

 

It was your turn to look sheepish and he grinned at you.

 

“You _do_ have more books than I saw!” He accused.

 

“I like books ok?” You said slamming the window closed and pouting and flouncing out of sight theatrically.

 

“I like books as well.” He said as soon as you walked into the kitchen and you yelped and jumped back out of the room.

 

“Did you run across the yard to meet me in the kitchen and scare me?” You demanded, peering around the doorframe.

 

He was sat casually on one of the stools at the kitchen island, legs crossed at the ankle and arms folded like he’d been there a while.

 

“No.” He scoffed.

 

You gave him your best ‘mom look’ until he cracked a grin and admitted what he’d done.

 

“I didn’t do it to scare you, that was a bonus.”

 

“Don’t make me call Captain Rogers to come and get you again.” You threatened, shaking your head in mock disappointment as you switched the oven on to preheat.

 

“I’m sorry! I’ll behave.” He protested, the  grin tugging at his lips letting you know he wasn’t really worried.

 

“Hmm.” You pretended to consider it.

 

“Think of the bookshelves!” He tried.

 

“I will get over my fear of that buzzsaw eventually you know.” You grumbled.

 

“Will you?” He challenged, calling your bluff.

 

You stared him down for all of three seconds.

 

“No.” You huffed and stomped over to the fridge, pulling out your bowl of chilled pastry dough and setting it on the counter.

 

He immediately prodded at it through the clingfilm and you slapped his hand away.

 

“Is that cinnamon?” He asked, sniffing it.

 

“Yes? Is that a problem? Do you not like cinnamon?” You asked worriedly.

 

“I like it. What are you making?” He asked.

 

“It’s a pie crust. I’m making apple pie.” You explained.

 

“Steve’s gonna be so jealous.” He said smugly, almost to himself.

 

You moved around, pulling out the things you needed while he watched the way you moved around, stepping over Othello as you went.

 

“It’s not going to be ready for a couple of hours you know.” You told him in bemusement as you rolled out the dough.

 

“That’s ok, I like watching you.” He said easily.

 

“Do you now? You didn’t sneak into my room and watch me sleep did you?” You asked, smirking at him.

 

“Is the woman who stripped me naked while I was unconscious really accusing me of being inappropriate while she was sleeping?”

 

“Hey! It was for your own good! And I didn’t look.” You defended yourself, threatening him with the rolling pin for emphasis.

 

“Stark said to tell you that if you took pictures he’ll pay you to leak them online.” He informed you, frowning at the message he was passing along.

 

“First of all, wow. Second of all, Tony Stark wants to see you naked? Third of all… thirdly of all? Having Bucky Barnes pass along a message from Tony Stark is surreal.” You said, crinkling your nose as you carefully placed the dough in the greased pie tin and smoothed it into place, cutting around the edges to make it nice and neat.

 

“And Banner told me to ask you to never ever attempt to stitch anybody up ever again.” He added.

 

That made you chuckle apologetically because you honestly felt bad but it was still hilarious. Bruce banner did not approve of your botched attempts at administering medical care. It was so surreal it was downright hysterical.

 

“You healed alright though? Right?” You asked worriedly.

 

“I healed fine thanks to you, no matter what anyone says. You’re the one who found me, you’re the one who took care of me.” He said heavily, catching your eye and holding your gaze.

 

“Technically Othello found you.” You tried to deflect, uncomfortable with the way he was looking at you.

 

Like you were something special, something wonderful. You weren’t wonderful at all.  

 

“I remember hearing him and thinking that Hydra had found me. Then I saw you and…”

 

“And what?” You asked, covering the pie crust with a baking sheet and pouring rice on top of it to weigh the dough down before you put it into the oven to blind bake.

 

“You told me to stop bleeding on your flowers. I didn’t know what was going on but I was on edge and trying not to pass out. I just remember your voice, begging me to let you help me. Hydra never asked permission, they never offer help. I don’t know how I knew for sure it wasn’t a trick, I just did. I just trusted you to help me and you did.”

 

“Anybody would have done it. For every sick Hydra agent in the world there are a thousand normal people who when faced with the chance, will choose to do good.” You assured him.

 

“Maybe. I hope so. But of all the people whose garden I could have wandered into, I’m glad it was yours.” He said emphatically.

 

“Why?” You asked before you could stop yourself.

 

“I forgot things like this still existed. People like you. Where it’s normal and safe.”  He admitted.

 

You thought about what little you knew about his life, his long and painful life. He’d been lost in a war and taken by the enemy, broken and abused and when decades later, he got free, he went straight back into the fight. It must have been a long time since Bucky met someone who’s biggest concern was whether their roses got trampled. His decision to come back and build bookshelves made a hell of a lot more sense now that you had thought it through.

 

“This house… I bought it because I thought I could make it into a home. A haven, away from the world. I didn’t realise how much work was going to go into it, how much fucking _carpentry_.” You said and he had the gall to laugh at the derision in your tone.

 

“But it’s calm and peaceful and serene here.” You sighed dreamily.

 

“It is.” He agreed. “I could help.” He added abruptly.

 

“Help?”

 

“What I’m saying is there’s a lot to be built here, if you wanted help with that. After all, that’s what Avengers do isn’t it? Assemble?” He joked, making you let out a surprised, horrifically girlish giggle at the pun.

 

“I’m sorry are you… are you moonlighting as a handyman?” You asked him.

 

“Only for you doll, your very own one handed handyman. Whenever I’m not on mission I could come around, help out.” He offered.

 

You wanted to tell him he didn’t need to do anything, he was welcome to come around without having to earn a place but you didn’t know how he would take it. And besides, he was practically bouncing in his seat with excitement, his eyes alight with eagerness. Your eyes flitted over his hands and you wondered how often he got to use them to create something, to build rather than destroy.

 

“Alright.” You agreed.

 

“Really?” He asked, despite it being his suggestion he looked taken aback that you’d agreed to it.

 

You nodded. His shock melted into happiness and you noticed the way his eyes crinkled up at the corners when he smiled , inadvertently leaning closer to him. He had come back, and it wouldn’t be the last time apparently.

 

“Ok. Well I’m going to get back to those bookshelves. I can’t exactly slack off on my first day on the job.” He said, wiping his hands on his jeans nervously as he stood and looked to you for approval.

 

“I’ll be in here if you need anything.” You told him, gathering all your ingredients for the pie.

 

“Come on boy.” He said to Othello and you gaped as your dog padded after him, tail wagging.

 

Apparently Othello had found something he liked more than food… Bucky Barnes company. You couldn’t even blame the fickle canine.

 

As you boiled the maple syrup to 120 degrees (Celsius) and warmed the double cream to make the caramel, you felt light and airy with the happiness that had settled over you.

 

“Are you allergic to nuts?” You called out of the window when there was a break in the sawing.

 

“No?” He called back.

 

You slowly stirred in the cream with the syrup and added the butter before you set the caramel aside to cool next to the pie crust and started thinly slicing the McIntosh apples, probably eating about two whole apples worth of slices as you worked. Once you were done you layered the slices, caramel and pecans inside the pie crust and used the leftover dough to cover it all up before putting it in the oven.

 

That was when you started trying to come up with reasons to go outside without making it seem as if you were checking up on Bucky. Because you weren’t. Checking Bucky out… Yes, but checking up on.

 

Othello’s food bowl still had biscuits in it. Presumably Bucky had taken it upon himself to feed him this morning, either that or Othello’s IQ had jumped an alarming amount. Whatever the case, that wouldn’t fly as an excuse.

 

“Aha!” You yelled loudly, remembering Othello wasn’t the only animal you fed on a regular basis.

 

You grabbed the bag of bird seed from the cupboard and hurried outside, deliberately not gawking at Bucky picking up twice his body weight in wood planks and carrying them over to the porch.

 

“Hi.” You waved at you wholly uninterested dog as you strode past.

 

“Doll! Wait!” Bucky called as you walked across the garden.

 

“I’m just feeding the birds, don’t mind me.” You shouted without turning around.

 

There was suddenly a metal arm around your waist, stopping you in your tracks.

 

“Put your hand out in front of you, slowly.” He whispered huskily in your ear.

 

You swallowed your heart that had leapt into your throat and did as he said, feeling almost dizzy as the scent of freshly cut wood and his own unique musk enveloped you. Your hand met resistance and you squeaked in surprise.

 

“Drop cloaking device.” Bucky said loudly.

 

The quinjet shimmered into view, right in front of you and you belatedly realised that you’d been one step from walking into the side of it.

 

“Well that could have been embarrassing. And painful. But more importantly, embarrassing.” You gulped.

 

You felt his chest rumble against your back as he chuckled at you and very slowly, let you go. It took every single iota of self-control you had not to pout when he stepped away.

 

“So… there’s an invisible jet on my lawn.” You said conversationally, like you were commenting on the sunshine.

 

“Well how do you think I got here?” He asked.

 

“I thought you drove? My first instinct wasn’t that you took an Avengers jet to come build bookshelves. I can’t believe they let you take a fucking baby plane to run errands.”

 

“Let?”

 

“Oh god, you stole it?”

 

“Borrowed.”

 

“Am I gonna get in trouble for this?” You asked in concern.

 

“No, no! You won’t. I promise.” He assured.

 

“Ok then can I go in it?” You asked hopefully.

 

“You wanna see inside? And I’m sorry, baby plane?” He asked bemusedly.

 

“It’s a plane that hasn’t grown up yet, don’t try convincing me otherwise. Can I see inside? Please?” You asked excitedly, tugging on his sleeve and trying to drag him around to where the ramp descended from.

 

“I’ll do you one better doll… You afraid of flying?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fact that so many people seem to like this is really really sweet. Like it makes me feel really warm inside that my little haven is being enjoyed by others. I love you guys xxx
> 
> For those who asked about the book mentioned in Chapter Two 'The life of Death'; no it's not a real book. It was just a concept I played with a few years ago that never made the cut.


	4. Chapter 4

You were in the co-pilot’s chair of an actual quinjet and if Bucky hadn’t strapped the seatbelt over you, you would be literally bouncing up and down in excitement. Othello shared your enthusiasm and let out a tiny happy ‘boof’ from the space between your and Bucky’s seats as the engine rumbled to life.

 

“Put your hand on this lever.” Bucky told you, grinning with unrestrained eagerness as you did as he said.

 

He placed his hand over yours and slowly and steadily guided you into pulling the lever back, making the jet hover off the ground.

 

A small excited gasp bubbled out of you as you realized you were doing that, you were _flying_ a _baby plane._

 

Outside the window in front of you, you could see the treetops as you rose higher until they disappeared from view were replaced with a scenic picture of the landscape, the place you called home.

 

“Oh my god.” You whispered reverently, sitting forwards in your seat to better take it in.

 

That wasn’t the end of it though, oh no. You kept rising into the sky until all you could see were clouds.

 

“Othello, we’re in the sky!” You said enthusiastically.

 

Bucky chivalrously held back his laughter and settled for a small smirk as he piloted the jet, flying you through the clouds. You were enraptured by the scene just beyond the glass, your hand reaching out to press against the glass that was separating you from the sky. Bucky noticed this and after watching you for a moment with a contemplative look he suddenly stood up and rummaged around until he found a length of jump rope and wound it through Othello’s collar, leashing him to the Pilot chair.

 

“Come on.” Bucky said, unclipping your seatbelt and walking to the back of the jet.

 

You shot him a confused look but followed nonetheless. There was a definite twinkle in his eyes as he reached over and pushed a button on the wall, making the back of the quinjet open.

 

And suddenly there was nothing between you and the clouds. You gazed out at them, hypnotized by the mind blowing beauty you were witnessing and took a step forwards, and another, until you were right at the edge of the floor. One step away from the open space.

 

You weren’t afraid of heights but so far up in the sky, amongst the clouds, you found a healthy dose of distress flooding your system. Still, you didn’t step back from the edge. How could you? This was an experience you would never have again and when you felt the heat radiating from Bucky’s body at your back, you knew that in that moment, hovering miles above the earth with nothing in front of you but miles of sky, you were the safest person in, on or above the world.

 

Adrenaline ignited in your veins, shooting through you until your skin erupted in goosebumps and your heart fluttered beneath your ribs like a trapped hummingbird. It was like having the physical reaction to anxiety without the emotional turmoil and instead of feeling trapped, caged in your own skin you felt… free.

 

You glanced down to your side and laced your fingers with his metal ones, holding on to him tightly before you let yourself tilt forwards until you were hanging over the edge, his hand the only thing holding you back and you laughed in wonderment until he gently tugged you back.

 

You didn’t fight it, letting your body fall back into his, laughter still on your lips. You turned your head and found his face just inches from yours. His lips were slightly parted and turned upwards at the edges, his pupils blown and awe written across his features.

 

“I wanna stay like this _FOREVER!_ ” You exclaimed.

 

His fingers flexed against yours and the weight of some deep, unfathomable emotion filled his eyes as he answered.

 

“So do I.”

 

“PIE!” You yelled abruptly, making him jump slightly.

 

“Pie?”

 

“Pie. In the oven.” You clarified.

 

As truly magical as it was up here, you did have to go back down to earth at some point and preferably your house wouldn’t be on fire when you did so with regret, you unlaced your fingers from his and stepped back.

 

“Oh. Right.” He sighed, hitting the button to close the back of the jet up as you ran back to the front, scratching Othello behind the ears as you settled into the co-pilots chair.

 

Bucky took his seat next to you and kept shooting furtive glances your way as he piloted the jet back to your garden. He landed it smoothly while you untied Othello. As soon as the ramp descended Othello’s shackles went up and he darted out of the jet, snarling. Bucky’s arm came up, sweeping you behind him while he pulled out a gun.

 

“Bucky no!”

 

“Stay here.” He commanded.

 

“Bucky wait, stop! It’s not Hydra, it’s not an enemy. It’s Taz!” You insisted in a rush, the world tumbling out of you nonsensically.

 

“Who?”

 

“Taz. It’s a cat from a few miles away. About once a week he wanders onto the property to torment Othello.” You explained.

 

“Stay.” Bucky commanded again, looking no less calm about your assurances.

 

You nodded and slowly backed away, further into the jet. You let him leave, knowing he wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d checked every inch of the house and surrounding area. He hit the button for the ramp on his way out, sealing you inside. It took about twenty minutes before he came back. His jaw was clenched and his shoulders tight as he waved you down the ramp and as you drew closer you could see the shame brewing in his eyes.

 

“You were right. It was just a cat.” He whispered.

 

“Nobody has any way of knowing you’re here Bucky and nobody has any reason to come after me. This place is as safe as can be, but you’re allowed to worry anyway. I don’t mind that you carry a gun or that wanted to check it was safe before you let me inside. It’s ok. _It’s ok_.”

 

Your assurances that it was safe but he wasn’t an idiot for making sure of that seemed to calm him and he huffed out the breath he’d been holding forcefully before relaxing his shoulders and nodding to show he understood.

 

“I turned the oven off.” He said meekly, looking at you for reassurance he’d done the right thing.

 

You smiled happily, relieved that you wouldn’t have to start from scratch.

 

“Thank you. But you’re still not getting any until you’ve had lunch.” You said mock sternly, daring him to challenge you as you lithely pranced away.

 

You figured that if you treated the incident like it wasn’t a big deal, he’d realise that it wasn’t.

 

“But I’m hungry now.” He whined petulantly, catching up with you by walking at a normal pace.

 

“Then go wash up.” You instructed.

 

When had you turned into such a mom friend? It was disgusting. And hypocritical. But it seemed to work on him because he jogged ahead of you, heading straight for the bathroom. You stifled a laugh at his antics and made your way into the kitchen, putting the pie on the cooling rack before you started making lunch.

 

By the time he came back you were plating up his food.

 

“Dry, cured pork on a bed of lettuce and tomato, served on home baked sourdough.” You announced pompously as you handed him the plate.

 

He looked bewilderedly at you as he took it and you could see the gears turning in his head as he tried to think of a way to word the question on his mind politely.

 

“It’s ham sandwiches Bucky.” You scoffed, shooing him towards the table.

 

Thankfully, you’d remembered what he said about Super Soldier metabolisms and used about three quarters of a loaf of bread to make him a comically large pile of sandwiches, which to your utter disbelief, he wolfed down in no time at all. By the time you brought a pitcher of ice water and a glass over to him, the plate was half empty.

 

“These are good!” he exclaimed as you set the jug down.

 

“Yeah well, you have super strength, I have super sandwich making skills.” You joked.

 

“See, you say that like it’s a joke doll but I guarantee the team would let you in if they tasted these.” He said.

 

“Do I get a supersuit? I think I’d look great in tight spandex.” You mused aloud.

 

Bucky must have been eating too fast because he chose that moment to choke on his sandwich and had to down half a glass of water to clear his throat while you silently panicked and wondered if you were physically strong enough to Heimlich a super soldier.

 

“Are you not eating?” He asked, still a little red from his near choking experience.

 

“Yip. I’m having pie!” You announced as you walked back over to the counter and pulled out two bowls and a carving knife.

 

You cut about a third of it for him and a slightly smaller slice for yourself.

 

“Do you want ice cream?” You asked with your head stuck in the freezer as you dug around for the ice cream in question.

 

“Yes! Please.” He said and you turned around just in time to see him feeding a crust to Othello.

 

He looked guiltily up at you when he realized he’d been caught.

 

“If my dog gets fat because of you, you’re taking him on extra walks.” You snorted.

 

You slid his bowl across the table to him as you sat down, kicking your feet up on empty chair and handing him one of the spoons. He immediately scooped up a spoonful and let out a little grunt of surprise that turned into a moan of appreciation as he tasted the dessert.

 

You weren’t proud of the way your heart leapt into your chest and your thighs automatically clenched at the sound.

 

“Definitely a superpower. Doll this is… _divine_.” He said emphatically.

 

“There’s still half of the pie left. You can take it with you if you want.” You offered.

 

“You should come to the compound and deliver it. Steve wants to meet you, to thank you for helping me. Sam want to meet you and berate you for it.”

 

“That’s nice.” You said, shoving as much pie in your mouth as you could in the hopes you could avoid the conversation.

 

“I could fly you out if you wanted.”

 

“Mhaybye.” You said around the mouthful.

 

“You don’t want to meet them.” He stated, picking up on the distress that was practically pouring off of you in waves.

 

“I don’t do well with people. I just… I prefer to not be around them unless it’s unavoidable.” You explained, sighing as you realized there was no way around it.

 

He went through an impressive range of emotions. Confusion, understanding, sadness and landing on a frantic guilt and embarrassment.

 

“Listen.” You said before he could say anything.

 

“It’s like this horrible itch, right under my skin. This buzzing building under the surface until it feels like my skin just doesn’t fit, like I’m all wrong. I get so unbearably warm and sometimes I feel like I’m going to pass out. Static build in my head and I can’t think. It’s exhausting and draining and I can put up with it, I can push through but when it’s over I have to lock all the doors and draw the curtains and be alone until my skin fits again.” You told him.

 

You hadn’t meant to go into quite so much detail but the words came pouring out of you and you couldn’t stop them. He looked down at his lap and took a deep breath before he looked up at you again with resolve.

 

“When I started coming back to myself, I felt like that all the time. Every day I remembered a little more and it got worse until I realized I was trying to be the person I remembered from before Hydra instead of the person I am now. I know our reasons for feeling that way aren’t the same but I understand what you’re describing and how unsettling it is. I am sorry for making you feel that way, I don’t know. I didn’t mean to…”

 

“But you don’t make me feel like that. Being around you isn’t stressful. You’re basically like Othello. Wait… no. That came out wrong.” You reflected with a squinted frown at what you’d just said.

 

“I’m like your dog?” He asked, his forehead crinkling up as he frowned at you.

 

“No, that’s too kinky even for me.” You sniggered.

 

He audibly gulped at the throwaway remark and you wondered if anyone had ever committed suicide by spoon before or were you about to be the first.

 

“Bucky… I feel comfortable around you. You being here with me is so normal I didn’t even think about it until after you left. You’re here and I like it. That’s what I’ve been trying to say.”

 

“You like it? So I can stay? Even though I haven’t made a dent in the bookshelves I’ve been promising to build?” He asked with a soft hopeful smile.

 

“Stay as long as you like.”

 

The way he smiled at you then made everything kind of melt away, until you were just gazing at him with what was probably an idiotic grin on your face.

 

“I should get on with it. I’m wasting daylight.” He said, standing up and looking as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself.

 

“Ok. Do you need anything? Can I help?” You offered.

 

“You really want to get that close to the power tools?”

 

“I’ll be upstairs reading if you need me.”

 

“That’s what I thought.” He teased.

 

“Bucky? Thank you. For the flight. It was… I don’t have words to describe it.” You laughed gently.

 

“I’ve read your book doll, I know that’s not true.” He challenged, crossing his arms and staring you down.

 

“It was transcendent. It’s the kind of experience that someone carries with them in their soul for the rest of their lives and if heaven exists and I can spend eternity in one moment, then that will be the moment I will choose.” You told him seriously.

 

“Well… That’ll do.” He whispered and walked away, slightly dazed, glancing back at you with a serene look on his face as he walked out of the back door.  

 

As you piled the dishes into the dishwasher and covered the leftovers it occurred to you that he probably wasn’t expecting you to tell him that a moment with him was your idea of heaven.

 

Oh well, it’s not like he would read into what you’d said.

 

Speaking of reading, you dug out your favourite book, knowing nothing less would be enough to distract you from the handsome handyman in your garden.

 

The sounds of sawing and hammering, of wood being sanded down all faded into the background, providing a soothing white noise as you lounged on your bed, propped up by pillows. It felt domestic and soothing and you barely noticed when the sounds moved inside as you lost yourself in the book, reading the familiar exploits and adventures of your favourite characters. Occasionally the bed would shift as Othello jumped on it to stick his snout in your face and check on you and you’d absentmindedly pepper kisses into his fur without looking away from the book. At one point a fresh cup of coffee appeared next to you and you didn’t even question where it came from as you sipped it, enthralled by the inner monologue of the hero of the story as they realized their world wasn’t what they thought it was.

 

Only when the light dimmed and you couldn’t clearly see the words on the page did you break out of your reverie, looking up in shock. The sun was barely visible on the horizon and you realised you’d lost the whole afternoon and most of the evening.

 

“Shit!” You exclaimed, jumping to your feet and immediately wincing as your bones all simultaneously let out screeches of protest and your bladder made it’s presence known.

 

You ran/hobbled down the stairs and into the living room, skidding to a halt at the phenomenal sight that greeted you.

 

“Welcome back.” Bucky said, looking over at you with an incredibly amused expression.

 

Your jaw fell open as you turned slowly in a circle, looking around the room. The once bare walls (you kept meaning to paint them, really you did) were… gone. Well not gone, covered. There were now rows of dark bookshelves covering three of the rooms walls, from floor to ceiling.

 

“How?” You demanded, looking at him with a ‘what the hell?’ expression.

 

“You… you don’t like it?” He grimaced.

 

“I _love_ it, it’s like a literal library. But HOW?” You asked again.

 

You’d only been lost in your book for half a day.

 

Right?

 

“Well I work faster than most people, and I can carry more weight so moving the stuff was less time consuming.” He explained.

 

“Bucky this is…”

 

“It was the wood you had in the shed but if you don’t like the colour I can varnish it.”

 

“It’s perfect. It’s like the better, beautifuler version of what I had in my head.” You told him.

 

He lit up at the way you looked around, beaming with happiness at your newly renovated living room.

 

“I took measurements of the porch for that swing, I’ll get started on that next time but..”

 

“But?”

 

“I have to go now. Steve called a little while ago, we have a short mission in the morning. I’ll be gone for a couple of days.” He said apologetically.

 

“Will you be ok?” You asked, concern flooding your veins.

 

“It’s nothing we can’t handle. I’ll be back soon enough.”

 

“Ok.” You said, nodding.

 

He looked like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words, which was ironically how you felt as well.

 

“This.” You said, gesturing around the room. “It’s amazing and so very perfect. Bucky I love it, I can’t thank you enough.”

 

“I’m only trying to repay you for saving my sorry ass darlin.” He chuckled, kneeling down to give goodbye pets to Othello.

 

“Thanks for your help today buddy.” He murmured.

 

You let out an internal aww at the adorable scene as you quietly backed out of the room, grabbing the covered pie dish out of the fridge. You heard him come into the kitchen behind you and you held it out to him as you turned around.

 

“I’ll see you soon doll.” He said.

 

You felt like you should do something but a handshake was too formal and a hug felt too presumptuous so you ended up awkwardly waving at him as he left. When the door closed you sighed and your shoulders dropped, already missing him. Then the door swung back open and he strode over to you, dipping his head down to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth, just like the last time he had left.

 

You couldn’t have stopped the smile that burst forth if you had tried and he smirked.  

 

“Bye darlin.”

 

“Be seeing you Sarge.”


	5. Chapter 5

“What the bloody hell are you doing?” You asked, huffing out an amused laugh as you walked into the living room with a pile of books in your arms. 

Othello (obviously) didn’t answer as you dumped the books on the floor and knelt down to figure out how your four legged friend had managed to pull his blanket across the room and shove it onto the bottom shelf of one of the new bookcases. 

“I guess this is your shelf now? Fine, I suppose you deserve a shelf and it’s not like you have any books.” You said, shrugging. 

Forty minutes, three pillows, two blankets and a lot of double sided tape later, Othello had a bed nook that he seemed pretty damn pleased with. 

You’d spent the better part of two days sorting through all your books and about three quarters of them fit into the living room before you ran out of shelf space. You were actually really proud of yourself for finding the motivation to do it but Bucky was a great motivator. It wouldn’t have taken you two days if you didn’t keep ‘accidentally’ reading the books instead of shelving them. Eventually though, you had done all you could do. 

And now you had nothing left to do except sit around and wonder if Bucky was ok. Being friends with a Superhero was harder than you expected. 

You… you were friends with him right? Why would he want to come back if you weren’t? I mean yes, your house was peaceful and he liked your dog but he had to be slightly fond of you if he wanted to spend time here. 

You were yanked out of your musing by Othello skidding around the room hyperactively. 

“Walkies?” You offered. 

Othello barked loudly and ran straight for his lead, barking enthusiastically at it. You rarely put the thing on him but he still associated it with walks anyway so you grabbed it, shoving it in your pocket and shoved one of your shoes on. Ten minutes later, you successfully located the matching shoe and you were ready to go. 

As soon as you opened the back door, Othello shot out of it like a bullet and barrelled towards the tall figure standing on the deck with a semi-amused expression. 

You were extremely jealous of Othello as he jumped up and started licking Bucky face. Not that you wanted to lick his face (you absolutely wanted to lick his face) but when the dog launched himself into Bucky’s arms it was cute, if you did it, it would be weird. 

Then again, you were weird and it would probably be worth it. 

Before you could talk yourself into or out of it Bucky stood up and turned to you with a dazzling grin But that wasn't what stopped you in your tracks, it was the large painful looking yellowing bruise across his cheek bone. 

“What happened? Are you ok?” You demanded, crossing the last few feet between you in a rush and cupping his face in your hands to get a better look at the bruise. 

“It’s just a bruise doll.” He assured you. 

“Does it hurt though?” You asked, softly brushing your fingertips over it. 

“Not much, I’ve had worse. You’ve seen me with worse.” He assured. 

“I’d really rather see you with no injuries at all.” 

“I’ll let the bad guys know that next time.” He scoffed but he circled his fingers around your wrists as he spoke, stopping you from moving away. 

“Hi.” He whispered. 

Without really thinking it through you threw your arms around his neck and hugged him. 

“I… we missed you.” You admitted.

If he had froze up or awkwardly patted you on the back and waited for you to let go, it would have been understandable. But he automatically wrapped his arms around you and squeezed you tightly, putting his whole body into the hug. 

Yeah, this was definitely worth it. 

You wanted to stay there forever. Your cheek was pressed against his chest and you could feel the steady thumping of his heart and feel the heat radiating from him. He was putting just enough pressure into his arms so you were tightly ensconced in his embrace but you did need to pull away at some point. 

Especially since Othello was nosing at your legs to get your attention. 

“I need to go walk this needy little bitch. And by walk I mean take him to the field and throw sticks until he tires himself out.” You whined unhappily, stepping back from what was your new favourite place in the world. 

“I can take him?” Bucky offered. 

“No, he’s my child, my responsibility.” You groaned.

“Your child?” He asked, smiling fondly at the fluffy disaster chewing on your shoelaces. 

“Yes, but he’s adopted. Just don’t tell him that.” 

“I would have never guessed, he’s got your eyes.” He joked as you strolled down the steps, Othello jumping down and running in excited circles around you. 

“Single parenting is hard.” You sighed, putting your hands up and walked across the garden like a zombie. 

“Doll, what are you doing?” He called. 

“Trying to not faceplant an invisible jet?” You said like it was obvious, frowning as Othello ran clear across the garden. 

“Barton dropped me off on his way home. Steve’ll pick me up later and I’ll be back in the morning.” 

“You know I have like three spare rooms. Well, two. One’s an office. But you’re welcome to stay, or not. It’s your decision but I don’t mind either way.” You called as you disappeared into the trees. 

You didn’t stick around to wait for an answer because you didn’t want to put him on the spot. The offer was out there and he could take it or ignore it without feeling pressured. 

You didn’t go far, just about a quarter mile away where there was plenty of open space for Othello to run around and chase the stick you threw for him. By the time he began to slow down, tiring from the neverending game of fetch and you walked back to the house, Bucky was sanding down the wood of your porch. 

Or as you were now realising, your deck. 

“What are you doing?” You called, practically skipping over to him. 

“Smoothing down the wood.” He explained, standing up and taking a sip from what was now his mug. 

He kept using the same one so in your head, it was definitely his. 

“Who doesn’t love a smooth deck?” You said perfectly innocently. “Of course there’s nothing wrong with a good rough decking either.” You added casually. 

If he wasn’t understanding the double entendres, the shit eating grin on your face would have given the game away, but Bucky had an innocent mind apparently and his back to you. 

“You like it rough doll?” He asked, turning around with a straight face. 

Maybe not so innocent after all. You suddenly felt very warm all over and felt the need to clear your throat while you studied a very interesting plank of wood. Your love of puns had fucking backfired and the betrayal stung. 

“Nope. Smooth is fine. You are the expert. Do what you gotta do. I’m going to go inside that house.” You said awkwardly. 

“No. I need you to look at these.” He said, passing a booklet of colour charts at you. 

“Oh, pretty!” You said, distracted from your embarrassment by the swatches of glossy colours.

“If you want the porch swing to be the same colour as the deck I’ll need to varnish the wood and with winter coming, it would be a good idea to use a sealant on the wood anyway.”

“Winter’s what?” You asked innocently 

“I’m not saying it.” He said straight away. 

“Saying what?” 

“You know what.” He warned, giving you a disapproving look. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You informed him, not even trying to hide your amused grin. 

He sighed heavily and shook his head .

“Winter is coming.” 

“Yes!” You crowed, throwing your hands in the air victoriously. 

Try as he might he couldn’t contain the small smile that broke free at your exuberance.

“Just pick a colour.” He demanded with faux exasperation. 

“That one.” You said, flipping the booklet open to a random page and holding it out to him. 

“I’ll order it.” 

“There’s a hardware store in town, I could… I’ll go get stuff.” You said, already mentally preparing yourself. 

“Or…” He said calmly, plucking the booklet from your hands. “I’ll have it delivered. Don’t put yourself in a position you would be uncomfortable in.” 

“You’re not going to tell me the only way to get better is to face my fears?” 

“Better? You’re not broken doll. You live your life in the way that makes you happiest and you aren’t hurting anybody by doing it your way.” 

You were used to being told that you needed to be fixed, it had taken you a long time to break that mental programming and realize that there was absolutely nothing wrong with you. Bucky was the first person to get that, right off the bat.

“Thank you.” You told him, the gratitude heartfelt. 

“I’ll order the wood and varnish and have it delivered tomorrow. I’ll be here to sign for it if… I checked the bedrooms, I’ll use the smaller one.” He said, studying your reaction to make sure you were really ok with it. 

“I’ll get you some sheets.” You said easily, shooting him a soft reassuring smile. 

It didn’t go over your head that the room he’d picked was the one closer to the stairs, the one before yours. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, I have loads of sheets.” You shrugged. 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

“You’ve slept here before.” You pointed out. 

“I was unconscious, it was a little different. I don’t want to impose.” 

You took a deep breath and told him the truth, fighting off your own embarrassment to make sure he knew where he stood. 

“You’re not imposing, I like it when you’re here. I really like it when you’re here.”

Being so rawly honest with someone, putting everything out in the open like this was terrifying. But the way he smiled at you made it all worth it.


	6. Chapter 6

When you came down the stairs from having a battle to the death with the clean bedsheets for the guest bedroom to get them on the bed, Bucky was stood in the middle of the kitchen, looking around contemplatively.

 

“Is the whole house white on purpose?” He asked.

 

“As in I am purposefully lazy, yes.” You snorted.

 

He shoved the colour chart booklet at you, found a notepad and pen and told you to choose the colours for each room.

 

“You’re really going for this whole handyman thing aren’t you?” You asked him, smirking in amusement as you flipped through the book.

 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him rub the back of his neck and look at the floor.

 

“What am I gonna do when you’re done? I’ll have to purposefully start breaking stuff. Or _move_.” You joked.

 

His posture instantly relaxed and a warm smile tugged at his lips as he realized he wasn’t overstaying his welcome, he really was wanted here.

 

“Don’t move, I like it here.” He said softly.

 

You went to make a joke but when you made eye contact with him and saw the gentleness and happiness shining in his eyes, the words died on your lips.

 

“I like having you here.” You said, more honestly and heartfelt then you’d ever said anything.

 

“Good.” He said and leant in, reaching behind you at the last second to pick up the coffee cup that you hadn’t noticed was behind you.

 

But just when you thought you were in the clear his free hand gently cradled the back of your head while he pressed a chaste kiss into your hairline. Before you could melt into a puddle on the floor at the sweetness of the simple affectionate gesture he slipped out of the back door, coffee in hand. It was in a happy daze that you wandered into the living room, sat down and started flipping through the charts. While Bucky was hard at work sanding down the porch, you were equally hard at work, picking paint colours.

 

You managed to pick a colour, or combination of colours for most rooms before a wet nose pressed into your cheek, sniffing loudly. You held up the two shades of blue you were choosing between to the light with one hand and stroked Othello with the other.

 

“Hey sweetheart.” You crooned.

 

“Hey darlin’.” Bucky said casually as he walked past the couch with a tape measure in his hand.

 

You’d been speaking to Othello but if the shoe fit, Bucky Barnes could damn well wear it. You made a mental note to call Bucky as many pet names as possible in future, seeing as you’d accidentally stumbled across his acceptance of them.

 

“Space or Prussian?” You called after him and he turned on his heel and came back over, leaning over the back of the couch to look at the chart.

 

“For what room?” He asked.

 

“Spare room, your one.” You told him, biting your lip as you tried to imagine the different shades on the walls.

 

He was quiet for a moment and you thought he was thinking about it but when you looked at him he was looking right at you with an unreadable expression.

 

“What?” You asked, frowning up at him in puzzlement.

 

He swallowed thickly and shook his head like he was trying to clear it before he tapped the Space Blue swatch decisively. You quickly scribbled it down and tore the page with all the listed colours out and handed it to him.

 

“I’ll order it now.” He said.

 

“My credit cards in the drawer under the breadbin.” You said nonchalantly, using the swatches to gently fan Othello and giggling at the serene look on the dogs face.

 

“I’ll just take it out of the ridiculously large check you hid in my book last time I was here.” Bucky said and you froze.

 

Busted.

 

You hadn’t known how to go about bringing up the issue of paying him, not sure if he’d be offended if you did, and so, like a mature adult, you’d just written out a cheque and hid it in his copy of your book. Before you could address the issue, he wandered away and you heard things being moved around in the kitchen. You sunk down on the couch until you were lying down on it and encouraged Othello up with you so you could use him as a blanket. A few moments later Bucky put a cup down on the table in front of you and picked up your laptop, sitting on the armchair across from you.

 

“Can I borrow this to order the paint and varnish?” He asked and you nodded.

 

The only sound was Othello’s gentle panting and the clacking of the keyboard as Bucky used your computer and you strangely didn’t feel the need to fill the silence, instead basking in the comfortableness of it. It was easy, and domestic, to just sit there and know he was close by. You felt all the ease you would when you were alone but with him there, a layer of safety and general warmth was added.

 

With an internal start you realized that something had been missing from your life all along, that there had been a void inside you, an aching loneliness and you hadn’t even realized it had been hurting you until he came along and made it better. Lazilly you turned your head to look at him and saw that he’d finished on the laptop a while ago and was sat back in the chair, watching you with interest.

 

You wondered, with unabashed hope, if he’d been thinking something similar. You didn’t even realise you were smiling at him until he smiled back.

 

“What do you want me to do?” he asked, his voice managing to not break the serenity of the moment.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“I can’t do anything outside until the stuff arrives but there’s stuff I can do inside.” He explained.

 

“You’ve done a lot, and you’re just back from a mission. Just… exist.” You suggested.

 

“Exist?”

 

“I was gonna say chill but it seemed a little crass, considering.” You admitted.

 

That made him laugh and you felt a new level of respect for the man, that he could find humour in a reminder of his past like that.

 

“I shouldn’t… chill. I’m here to help, you should put me to work.” He argued, an amused grin still tugging at his lips but his eyes gave him away.

 

He was out of place here, without a reason to be here. He still didn’t get it.

 

“Alright Sergeant Barnes, your mission, should you choose to accept it…” You said in your best Mission Impossible impression.

 

He sat forward with playful curiousness.

 

“Choose a book, read the book.” You instructed, pointing at the nearest shelves.

 

His eyes drifted to where you were pointing before they snapped back to your face and you could feel the hopefulness radiating from him as a bright grin was shot towards you before he leapt to his feet and started studiously checking the shelves.

 

It took him forever to pick a book, he kept taking one of the shelf and then putting it back with an almost regretful expression. Eventually you got up and started clearing a random shelf of books. When it was empty, you followed him around the room, taking the books he put back off the shelf and putting them on the newly empty one.

 

“What are you doing?” He asked after the fourth time it happened.

 

“Putting the books you want to read on your shelf.” You explained.

 

“My… my shelf?”

 

“Yeah, we can even make a plaque if you like. Books Bucky wants to read. The Booky Barnes shelf!” You said, pleased with yourself for the pun.

 

He mouthed Booky Barnes to himself in disbelief and chuckled, slowly taking a book off the shelf and putting it on his shelf before he looked at you, like he was looking for approval. It reminded of you of the way Othello would look back at you when he was a puppy who had just successfully completed a trick. The parallel was both adorable and heartbreaking.

 

“If you fill it, just clear of the one above it.” You told him, casually, walking towards the kitchen and brushing your hand across his back as you passed.

 

You left him to it, smiling to yourself at the noises of books being reshelved as you moved around the kitchen. Your heart was fit to burst at the events of the day and you took it out on the oven, spending the next few hours baking and cooking until the whole house was filled with the smell of homemade bread, cookies and spices.

 

Periodically, Othello would come wandering in to the kitchen, sniffing the air and pleading with his eyes until you gave him a treat. Every so often, looked into the living room to check on Bucky and every time, he was sat on the chair, reading in the exact same position as you saw him last time. You’d apparently found someone who was as easily lost in a book as you were.

 

When the sun had set, and darkness settled over the house like a blanket you peered into the living to find it empty. You assumed he’d gone to the bathroom, or to stretch his legs. But when you caught movement outside you crept over to the window and looked out.

 

Bucky was slowly walking along the perimeter of your land, Othello by his side. It took you a few moments to realize he was doing a perimeter check, to make sure everything was safe. You weren’t going to address it, you really weren’t but when he came back in, you realized you needed to.

 

You wanted him to feel safe here, and you were prepared to do whatever that took.

 

“Wash your hands, dinners ready.” You called as soon as he walked in the door.

 

“Yes ma.” He called back.

 

You gasped in outrage but he had already wandered off to do as he was told. When he came back he tried to help you carry stuff over to the table but you shot him a withering glare until he held his hands up in surrender and sat down.

 

“I know I said Super Soldiers have heightened metabolism but this is a lot.” He said, in awe.

 

You shrugged.

 

“I didn’t know what you liked and I figured what you didn’t eat, I could freeze or maybe give you to take back for your friends.” You explained.

 

You really had gone a little overboard though. There was macaroni cheese, lasagne, garlic bread, salad (ew), two different kinds of potatoes, pork chops and a variety of greens.

 

You mixed in some beef you’d set aside for Othello with his biscuits and put the bowl down for him and refilled his water bowl before you sat down. Bucky had waited for you but as soon as your ass hit the chair he was piling food on his plate with the gusto of a man who hadn’t seen a meal in weeks. He was still so polite though, holding out each dish for you and putting it on your plate for you when you nodded.

 

“So, do you want to start stashing weapons around the house? I don’t mind, just make sure Othello and I won’t accidentally find them.” You said casually, spearing a piece of lettuce on your fork and wrinkling your nose at it before you ate it.

 

He froze and looked up at you guilty and you paused chewing.

 

“You already did that, didn’t you?” You asked him and he took a deep breath before he nodded.

 

“Ok. There’s a security system but the code’s still 0000 cause I don’t know how to work it so go nuts with that.” You said and took a sip of your drink.

 

“You’re not mad?” He asked quietly.

 

“You’re a soldier, and an Avenger. The first time I met you, you were riddled with bullet holes. I know who you are and what that entails, but only to an extent. I don’t know what you need to do to be safe, but I trust you. I know if you hid weapons in here you wouldn’t put them in places I would accidentally find them, so no, I’m not mad.” You said truthfully.

 

You put your fork down to grab a piece of garlic bread but his hand caught yours over the table and he laced his fingers with yours, staring down at your intertwined hands like it was a puzzle he was trying to solve.

 

“Thankyou.” He whispered.

 

You could feel your heart jackhammering in your chest, beating against your ribs like it was trying to escape the cage.

 

“I just want you to feel safe here., to be happy here, I want you to keep coming back.” You said thickly, mentally bitchslapping yourself as soon as you said it.

 

You hadn’t meant it to sound so needy, so desperate, so stupid. You were going to scare him off, he would probably…

 

You never got to finish the thought of what he would probably do, because of what he actually did. Your chair was pulled closer with a loud screech and he was half out of his when his arms wrapped around you, practically seating you in his lap as he buried his face in your shoulder.

 

It only took you a split second to react instinctively, sliding your arms around his neck and holding on to him for all you were worth. It wasn’t every day you were hugged like this, you actually couldn’t remember a time in your life when you were held this way, or at least it feeling _so fucking wonderful_.

 

When he pulled away there was the faint tinge of pink on his face and he ducked his head down, busying himself with eating but you could see the small, satisfied grin on his face.

 

It was the mirror of your own.

 

The rest of the meal was spent in happy silence, both of you shooting little glances and smiles at each other, taking turns dropping food under the table for Othello who was having the time of his life. You finished long before Bucky did and stood up to put your plate in the dishwasher while he determinedly ate a bit of everything you’d made.

 

You were nearly finished cleaning the kitchen by the time he sat back in his seat with a satisfied sigh and a sleepy, content look on his face. Then and only then did he seem to realise what you’d been doing.

 

“Let me finish that!” He exclaimed, standing up and carrying plates over to you.

 

“No, I got it.”

 

“You cooked all this, at least let me help clean up.” He bartered, moving towards the sink.

 

“Get out of my kitchen Barnes.” You warned, pointing the utensil in your hand at him.

 

It wasn’t until he gave you a bemused look that it dawned on you, you were threatening The Winter Soldier with a knife. You awkwardly placed the clean knife down on the counter with a sheepish expression. Quicker than your eyes could follow he snatched it up and flipped it into the air with practiced ease, catching it by the handle and twirling it around his fingers before sliding it into the correct slot on the knife rack.

 

“Well fuck me.” You exclaimed breathlessly at the little display.

 

“What?” He choked, looking at you like you’d grown a second head.

 

“How did you do that? Can you do it again?” You asked excitedly, bouncing a little in your enthusiasm.

 

He started at you, blinking owlishly for a good 30 seconds before he pulled a knife from somewhere under his belt and held it out for you to see. You were transfixed as he slowly spun it in his hand, twisting it around his fingers and flipping it a few times.

 

If you’d have said it didn’t turn you on, you’d have been a fucking liar. Thankfully, he didn’t ask.

 

He did however catch your speculative glance at the kitchen knives and snapped at you before the thought could fully form.

 

“Don’t even think about trying to do it yourself doll.” He warned.

 

“You’re no fun.” You pouted.

 

“I’m lots of fun.” He protested.

 

Othello let out a low bark, looking between you both.

 

“See, Othello agrees with me.” Bucky said smugly.

 

“That’s it, out of my kitchen. Both of you.” You ordered, pointing at the door.

 

“Ganging up on me, the audacity.” You grumbled as Bucky laughed and walked backwards out of the kitchen, whistling to get Othello to follow him.

 

“I’m going to go, uh, shower.” He informed you.

 

“Towels are in the linen closet at the top of the stairs. There’s generic stuff in the bathroom.” You told him, realising he’d picked a room that didn’t have access to your bathroom and he’d have to use the main shower.

 

“Got it. Thanks.”

 

You opened the backdoor to let Othello roam for a bit while you finished clearing up, boxing up all the leftovers and splitting them between the fridge and the freezer.

 

Once you were done and Othello wandered back inside you switched the kettle on and decided to fetch your blanket from your room so you could maybe sit on the porch for a while with a hot drink to unwind.

 

Halfway up the stairs you realized your error when you heard the bathroom door open and Bucky stepped out. You nearly faceplanted the stairs but managed to grab the railing before you fell and held yourself upright as you slowly climbed the steps, your stomach doing summersaults as you did.

 

He’d been undressed in your presence before but you really had undressed him under a blanket, carefully inspecting him for bullet holes and treating them. He’d been unconscious and bleeding and not a single part of your brain had been paying attention to the sheer majesty and beauty of him until he’d woken up and accidentally flashed you. Even then, it had been a fleeting glance.

 

There was nothing fleeting about this because if you looked away, you’d have to look away from where you were walking. Which considering how graceful and unlucky you were, would be a fucking disaster. So you had a damn good reason for shamelessly ogling him as you walked up the stairs.

 

The towel was slung low on his hips, the sharp lines of his abdomen startingly prominent in your line of sight as your gaze travelled upwards, raking across his chest, his shoulders, his collarbone (how could someone have a sexy collarbone, how was that possible?) and by the time your gaze reached his face, your brain pointed out something glaringly obvious.

 

In the few seconds that had felt that like hours in which you’d been checking him out, he hadn’t moved. He’d stood in the hallway, facing you. Looking at you as you’d looked at him. His eyes were brimming with unfiltered amusement and a hint of cockiness.

 

You swallowed down the white hot burn of embarrassment and shame that was flooding your system and saved face the best way you could.

 

“Looking good Sarge.” You said casually as you sidestepped past him.

 

As soon as you made it to your own room and closed the door, a string of curses flew out of your mouth. You’d tried to play it cool and overcompensated, instead sounding like a world class creep.

 

“Fucking, fucker. Motherfucking mother of twats, what is wrong with me?” You hissed to yourself.

 

“Looking good Sarge.” You mocked, doing an unkind impression of yourself.

 

“I hate my entire existence.” You grumbled.

 

“Can I borrow a hairbrush?” Bucky called through your door.

 

It was too much and you sunk to the bed weakly, lying on your front and deciding that you would just stay like that. Forever.

 

Your door creaked open and he pushed his head through the gap with a concerned expression that morphed into amusement when he saw your position.

 

“Are you ok?”

 

“Hairbrush that way.” You said, rolling onto your back and pointing in the general direction while keeping your eyes studiously on the ceiling.

 

Which lasted for 0.2 seconds. You expected him to take the brush, not stand in front of your mirror, clad in his itty bitty towel and brush his hair right there. You let out a soft sigh of appreciation at the way his back muscles rippled and moved as he dragged your brush through his damp locks, working out the knots. He was standing half naked in _your_ bedroom so you weren’t quite sure what was going on but he was your friend and you should not be ogling him so shamelessly. You needed to stop, like right now. He hadn’t been prepared to spend the night, he just didn’t have a change of clothes, that was all.

 

“Give me your clothes.” You demanded, standing up.

 

“Beg your pardon?” He asked, looking at your reflection in the mirror.

 

“I can, you know… wash them.” You stuttered.

 

“You got a washing machine?” He asked you.

 

“No Bucky, I was going to take them down to the river and bang rocks against them.” You snorted.

 

Ah, dry humour, your comfort blanket. So long as you had sarcasm you could survive anything, even nearly naked Super Soldiers.

 

Theoretically.

 

“You really don’t need to do that.” He said, putting your brush down.

 

“That way they’ll be clean for tomorrow.” You said, suddenly finding a loose thread on the edge of your pillow very interesting.

 

“I have my go bag with me, brought incase I got called out again so Steve didn’t have to bring it.” He said.

 

“Oh, ok.” You said, nodding along like a ridiculous bobblehead.

 

“I’ll see you downstairs?” He asked.

 

“Yeah, I’ll be there.” You agreed.

 

As soon as your door closed you released your breath in a whoosh and shoved your face into a pillow. Your entire body was trembling and your skin was about 7000% hotter than it should be. You took in deep, calming breaths and tried to reign in your overactive imagination and hormones while you simultaneously praised and cursed Bucky need for a hairbrush. What kind of person doesn’t put a comb in their bag anyway?

 

_What kind of person doesn’t put a comb in their bag?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this quite long chapter! Feel free to tell me what you thought ;-)


	7. Chapter 7

The cool night air does little to calm the raging fire in your veins. Every time you thought you had it under control an image of Bucky Barnes thick, sculpted body would flicker in your mind and you’d be back where you started, with molten lava rather than blood running through your veins. You’d fled outside while he was in his * **ahem** * the spare room, forgoing your blanket or the tea you’d planned on making. You needed air, you needed to try and force your lungs to start working again without the breath catching in your throat as flashes of water droplets trickling down bare skin assaulted your mind.

 

He really had no business being that fucking beautiful.

 

And you had no business being such a creep about it. He was a _friend_ , someone you’d opened your home to with the promise of peace and safety. Little did Bucky know that it wasn’t Hydra or Aliens he needed to worry about here, it was you treacherous lust.

 

You could have probably handled it if he was just attractive, but he had to be so soft and kind as well, offering understanding and comfort. He just had to be funny with his quick with and dorky puns. He just had to be absolutely adorable, playing with your dog and letting the awestruck canine follow him around. He had to literally stumble into your lonely little life and immediately just fit in perfectly. He had to be the whole package.

 

 _No, no, don’t think about packages and Bucky in the same sentence!_ You berated yourself.

 

“Pull yourself together!” You grumbled out loud.

 

Othello made a low whining sound and tilted his head at the sudden exclamation.

 

“Not you puppy, you’re perfect.” You assured, leaning across the porch steps to pat his head.

 

“So you were talking to yourself?” Bucky said from behind you.

 

You were visibly startled and it was only by sheer luck that you didn’t topple down the steps. You shot a betrayed glare at Othello for not warning you about the former assassin sneaking up on you before you turned to look at Bucky, silently praying he was wearing clothes.

 

He was. You were relieved **not** disappointed to see him clad in a pair of low hanging sweatpants that did nothing to hide his muscular thighs and a tight t-shirt that highlighted every single hard plane and line of his torso. He may as well have been naked.

 

“Why do you keep doing that?” You hissed, trying to pass off your heated skin and racing heart as fright.

 

“Habit.” He shrugged.

 

“Why do you need to pull yourself together?” He pushed.

 

You’d rather hoped he would have forgotten that stray comment he’d eavesdropped on.

 

“I was convincing myself to get up and go make some tea.” You lied smoothly.

 

You had to resist the urge to pat yourself on the back for that quick thinking comment, cause that might have given you away.

 

“Oh, you wanted tea?” He said and something about his tone of voice made you fully turn around so you could glare suspiciously at him.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Well ok… If you’d rather have tea, guess that means more hot chocolate for me.” He said with a little mischievous smirk.

 

“You made hot chocolate?” You gasped, suddenly very invested in the conversation.

 

“Yeah, found some chocolate in my bag and made it on the stove. But you can just have tea.” He said, slipping back into the kitchen.

 

“You made real hot chocolate? Bucky I want hot chocolate. Please?” You called, scrambling to your feet and rushing after him.

 

“You said you wanted tea darlin’.” He said strictly.

 

He had his back to you and you could see him pouring something into a mug from a saucepan. The scent of chocolate hit you as soon as you walked inside and you practically drooled.

 

“No, I want hot chocolate, I do!” You insisted.

 

“You sure?” He asked, holding the mug out to you.

 

It was the Sleepy the dwarf one and you eagerly reached out for it but at the last second he pulled it away, holding in the air, high out of your reach.

 

“Bucky, quit being such a dick or I swear to god I will call Captain America to come and collect your annoying ass again.” You growled.

 

“Say please.” He demanded with a sly grin.

 

“Please quit being such a dick?”

 

He bit his bottom lip to stifle a laugh and you were momentarily distracted until he made a thoughtful humming sound.

 

“I dunno, I don’t think you’re being nice enough to me.” He decided.

 

You made a half hearted jump for the cup, knowing full well that even if you could have reached it, you couldn’t very well wrestle a cup of scalding liquid from a super soldier. You steadied your landing by grabbing the first thing in front of you, which was a handful of his shirt.

 

“What are you going to do, climb me?” He chuckled.

 

“Don’t fucking tempt me.” You muttered before you could stop yourself.

 

He inhaled sharply and opened his mouth to say something but the words died on his lips when you gently stuck your bottom lip out and gave him the most helpless, pleading look you could.

 

“Please Bucky? I want it.” You begged.

 

He swallowed thickly and you felt his abs clench under your knuckles but before you could question it he lowered the mug, holding it out to you. You quickly grabbed it away from him before he could tease you again and watched him suspiciously over the rim as you took a careful sip.

 

You felt like a cartoon character when the sorta spicy, creamy cocoa touched your tongue and your eyes widened. You couldn’t help the sickly sweet smile on your face as you gazed up at him.

 

“Ok, that’s absolutely fucking delicious. Thank you.” You said, licking your lip to savour the leftover flavour on them.

 

“It’s chilli chocolate. Nat made it for me and Steve once when we came back from a mission all beat up. I wanted you to try it.” He said softly, embarrassed for some reason.

 

“Nat… The Black Widow?” You checked taking another happy sip.

 

“That’s her.” He confirmed, picking his own cup up and gently shooing you towards the door.

 

“That’s really sweet that she does that for you.” You admitted, feeling kind of soft inside at the mental image of the deadly superhero you often fangirled over making hot chocolate for her teammates.

 

“She did tell us if we told anyone about it, she’d kill us. So my life’s in your hands doll.” He warned. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” He added as an afterthought.

 

“Yeah, I don’t like the idea of having that level of responsibility again.” You grimaced as you retook your seat on the steps.  

 

It had been bad enough to have him bleeding his life away in front of you when he was a stranger but now, the thought of it made your heart clench painfully. He sat next to you, his thigh a hairsbreadth away from touching yours.

 

“I’ve been meaning to ask though, and I know you probably can’t tell me but… is there a Hydra base near here?” You asked, kind of dreading the answer.

 

“No!” He said quickly, looking furious at the mere thought.

 

“No, there was one about 150 miles away. Some agents escaped when we hit the base and I gave chase, ended up falling in a river and being washed ashore a few miles away from here. My tracker was in my comm unit which was knocked out, that’s how I ended up here.” He explained, trying to reassure you.

 

Bile rose in the back of your throat at the thought of him going through that, of how banged up he’d been when he arrived here. But he was fine now, completely healed. He was strong, he could survive anything. You knew he was a hero and would be in constant danger but you were reassured by the thought that he was tough enough to survive it, he would always come back to you.

 

_Where the hell did that thought come from???_

Bucky Barnes was a virtual stranger who for some reason you’d grown attached to and this was the first time it had actually scared you. He wasn’t yours, he wouldn’t come home to you because this wasn’t his home. It didn’t matter if you cleared off a bookshelf for him or painted the bedroom blue because it was the colour of his uniform, he wasn’t going to suddenly become just as attached to you and frankly, you shouldn’t want him to.

 

“Hurt like hell but I can’t be mad about it. Brought me here, brought me to you, so it was worth it.” He said softly, the words slicing through your silent arguments and settling them.

 

The only thing you could hear in the night air was your shallow breaths and the longer you went without saying anything the more the self-doubt in his eyes grew. He closed his eyes, his forehead crinkling and you could almost hear the internal berating he was giving himself.

 

“I could never be happy about you being in pain, even if it brought you into my life. I want you here so much that I think I should be worried about it but fuck it, I want you here Bucky. I just don’t like the thought of you hurting.” You finally said.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              

A soft smile graced his lips before he opened his eyes and looked at you fondly.

 

“I’ll never get tired of hearing that.” He whispered.

 

“Well then, let’s stop pretending you’re just a handyman.” You decided.

 

“Oh? Then what am I to you darlin’?” He asked.

 

You switched your mug to the opposite hand and reached out, tentatively lacing your fingers with his.

 

“You’re my friend Bucky.” You decreed.

 

He didn’t say anything and you looked up at him. Whatever look he’d had on his face was quickly gone as he rearranged his features to smile warmly at you.

 

“Whatever else you are, you’re my friend first and you have a place here, whenever you want it.” You said, looking him in the eye so he could see the honesty in yours.

 

When his whole face lit up like he was shining from within and he tugged you closer so he could put his arm around you, the fear you’d been feeling faded out of existence. You rested your head on his shoulder, your arm around his waist as you sat under the night sky together, sipping hot chocolate and watching Othello sniff his way around the moonlit garden. You weren’t unsettled by how right it felt to slowly curl into his side, inch by inch, barely even noticing the gradual transition until your legs were tucked under his thigh, you empty cup abandoned on the steps so you could wrap both your arms around his body.

 

The spiced hot chocolate warmed you from the inside out and the heat from his body radiated around you, much better than any blanket.

 

You knew that it was now an irrefutable fact that Bucky Barnes was an important part of your life, integral even. It was the last coherent thought as the tranquillity of the moment lulled you to sleep.

 

“Doll, you need to let go of me.” Bucky’s voice said softly, breaking through your dreamy stupor.

 

Letting go meant losing the warm.

 

“Technically no.” You muttered.

 

He chuckled quietly at your sleepy, nonsensical  arguments and your back hit something soft. You half opened your eyes, recognising your surrounding as your bedroom. You subconsciously tightened your arms and only then did you realise they were around his neck and you were cradled against his chest, trapped between him and the mattress as he tried in vain to lower you onto it. There was a dip in the mattress behind you and a cold nose pressed into your shoulder.

 

“I think Othello is getting jealous darlin’” Bucky whispered.

 

“M’kay.” You muttered, sliding your arms from around him, catching a hold of the neckline of his shirt and tugging him towards you. He came willingly, no resistance and you blindly pecked him on the cheek, landing more on his chin though.

 

“Goodnight love.” You sighed, flopping over gracefully and burying your face into Othello’s fur, and promptly falling back asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is purely just self-indulgent fluff. I hope you're finding reading this half as calming and soft as I am writing it?


	8. Chapter 8

The light peering around the edge of the curtains was faint. It wasn’t quite dawn and not quite day, it was that moment in between when the unlucky people who were awake this early had pulled themselves out of bed and were starting to blindly search for coffee. Not you though, you were half trying to figure out what had woken you in the first place and half trying to hold on to the fuzzy remnants of a wonderful dream. A dream that had been so potent that you could still half feel the strong arms wrapped around you, you could almost feel the contrasting metal and flesh against your skin.

 

There was a huff of breath that tickled your face and ruffled your hair and you looked up into the wide inquisitive eyes of Othello.

 

“No, too early. G’way.” You mumbled, turning over.

 

You heard the gentle patter of his feet as he came to the other side of the bed. His warm, lovely smelling breath, fanned over your face and you begrudgingly opened your eyes. He was half on the bed, his head on your pillow so you were nose to snout with him.

 

“Fine. Fine. M’up.” You grumbled, rolling out of the bed and landing on your knees on the floor.

 

You half crawled, half dragged yourself to the door, using it to pull yourself into a standing position and stumbling down the stairs to let Othello outside. Only, your loveable dog was an evil mastermind because the back door was already wide open and a gorgeous super soldier was standing in your kitchen.

 

“Othello! I told you to let her sleep!” Bucky admonished.

 

“He’s your dog now, I wash my hands of him.” You groaned, blinking sleepily at the light streaming inside.

 

“I’m sorry doll, go back to bed.” Bucky offered, coming over and trying to gently turn you around and push you back towards the stairs.

 

“nyyah.” You said eloquently, butting your head into his shoulder and letting your body go partially limp, leaning on him.

 

He wrapped both arms around your waist and help you there, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the small of your back. After a few minutes you garnered the strength to stand on your own, though Bucky didn’t move his arms.

 

“Good morning.” You said softly, looking up at him.

 

“Morning darlin’.” He said back, pulling you over to the table and sitting you down.

 

You blinked and Bucky was gone, you blinked again and there was a mug hovering in front of your face.

 

“Coffee?” You asked hopefully and Bucky snorted.

 

You took the mug from him and sipped eagerly.

 

“Coffee.” You repeated, this time in happy satisfaction.

 

“I could kiss you.” You announced, gulping as much of it down as you could without scalding your throat.

 

Bucky’s hand paused in brushing your bed hair away from your face but you only barely registered it.

 

“You talking to me or the coffee?” he quipped, though it came out kind of forced.

 

He was probably just as exhausted as you were.

 

“You’re up early.” You noted.

 

“Got up before dawn, went for a run in the woods, took Othello for a bit.” He explained.

 

He gave you a toothy grin when he noticed your wide eyed look of horror.

 

“Super serum only goes so far doll, still gotta work out if I wanna be an Avenger, especially since you started feeding me.” He chuckled.

 

“Oh, do you want breakfast?” You asked, only really registering that part of his sentence and standing up to go to the kitchen.

 

“How about you let me make it? Or are you going to threaten me with a knife again?” He asked.

 

“I don’t really eat breakfast, coffee is the only food group I need in the morning.” You said with a shrug, taking another swig to emphasise your point.

 

“Coffee isn’t a food group.” He said with a hint of concern.

 

“Coffee is absolutely a food group, fucking fight me.” You grumbled.

 

He deliberately looked you up and down with amusement and you snorted at the implication he would actually fight you.

 

“I’m gonna go shower.” You said, shaking your head at him.

 

“You might want to evacuate the family of birds out of your hair first.” He suggested.

 

You patted your hair in a panic, worried about how bad it must look now and he smirked at your reaction.

 

“I was joking doll, you look fine. You look beautiful. You always look beautiful.” He said.

 

There was no posturing in his statement, he might have well just pointed out the sun was up or that Othello was a dog. It was a statement of fact and it was an honest one to him. You could have handled it if he had said it jokingly, or flirtily but this simple, raw, honesty threw you. You fled before he could see your blush, only realising you’d taken the empty mug with you when you got upstairs.

 

As you showered and got ready, spending far longer on your hair than you usually did, your mind was in overdrive.

 

You were friends and you had told yourself you were only friends, you needed to remember that. If you slipped up and allowed yourself to hope for more, even for a second, it would ruin everything. You’d make him uncomfortable, you’d push him away, get your heart broken and worst of all, you’d rob Bucky of the peace he seemed to find here.

 

Being Buckys friend and helping him find happiness while he was here had to be not your main priority but your only one. It didn’t matter how much your body responded to him or how your heart thumped when he smiled, it really didn’t matter how _safe_ and _peaceful_ you felt when he was around or how physical contact with him made you realise how out of place your soul felt until he touched you and it clicked back into place. It did not matter one bit that Bucky Barnes made you feel alive and content at the same time and no matter how much you dreamed about him, you needed to bury those inappropriate feeling far down. He deserved that from you. He deserved more.

 

Head finally screwed on right and priorities finally in order you made your way downstairs, stopping to inspect the paint cans littering the hall. They must have been delivered while you were in the shower. You could hear the faint sounds of him moving around outside and got a little excited about the porch and the swing that would soon be installed on it. You couldn’t wait until you could sit on it and watch the rain. The summer was fading into fall quickly and there would be plenty of rainy days ahead. Maybe before winter you could get one of those firepit table things.

 

A clear picture flashed in your mind, of glowing embers warming you as the snow fell. Othello lying by the fire and Bucky’s arms around you as you sat together watching the flakes fall. You almost scolded yourself for the daydream but convinced yourself it was harmless, there had been nothing romantic about it.

 

Nothing at all.

 

You dumped a few ice cubes into a large bowl of cool water and carried it into the garden, laying it in the shade of a tree for Othello. Bucky had already started varnishing the wood of the porch and looked up to smile at you as you walked past, throwing an inquisitive look when you came out of the house with pruning shears and gloves.

 

“I’m going to tend to my roses.” You explained.

 

“Ok, I’ll be here.” He said, gesturing to the porch.

 

It was all very domestic, him painting the porch, you pruning the roses, Othello running around the garden, alternating between you and Bucky when he wanted someone to throw a toy for him or a scratch behind the ear. It somehow felt dreamlike and so real at the same time. It was the picture of bliss, everything you never knew you wanted. Well, almost everything.

 

Halfway through clipping the withering leaves off the rose bushes you spotted something on the dirt and leaned forward to get a closer look.

 

“Bucky?” You called out.

 

Your tone of voice must have been more urgent than you had intended because he was at your side almost instantaneously.  

 

“Doll?”

 

“Can you get a cup of water and a teaspoon of sugar? Please?” You asked quickly, still peering into the flowers.

 

He faltered for a brief moment before he rushed back towards the house to do as you asked. Maybe it was the soldier in him, not questioning orders, but you hoped that it was that he had a measure of trust for you. He came back shortly with the things you’d asked for.

 

“Come here.” You told him, patting the ground next to you.

 

He knelt beside you and you looked up at him with a soft smile and he visibly relaxed at your expression. You wordlessly grabbed his metal hand and tugged it in front of you, ignoring his bemused expression for the time being.

 

“Bee’s are really important. When they travel from flower to flower, they spread the pollen. They help plants grow, they tend to the eco system. And they’re really gentle little things, like tiny little buzzing puppies.” You told him while you mixed the sugar and water in the palm of his hand.

 

“You like bees?” He asked, confusion lacing his tone as you put the water and spoon down on the grass.

 

“They’re dying out, going extinct. A third of the plants and crops humans eat are pollinated by bees. If they die out, we lose a third of our resources. The animals that live on those plants will also go extinct, and the animals that live on those animals and so on and so forth. The whole food chain collapses if we lose the bees.” You narrated as you took a loose leaf and bent down, foraging amongst the roses.

 

When you sat back and gently deposited a weak bee from the leaf onto Bucky’s palm he gasped softly in wonder.

 

“Is it dead? What are we doing?” He asked, leaning in to look at it.

 

“It just needs a little boost. Watch.” You encouraged, crossing your legs and waiting patiently.

 

After a few moments Bucky carefully held his metal hand still in front of you as he moved to sit behind you until you were sat between his knees and his chin was resting on your shoulder. You both watched avidly as the bee pulled itself towards the little puddle of sugar water in his palm.

 

“It’s drinking it!” Bucky whispered excitedly.

 

You loved bees and were actually quite passionate about their cause, so hearing his excitement sent a little thrill through you. He was just as invested in the little bee as you were, he didn’t think you were dumb, he didn’t find this ridiculous. Warmth bloomed in your chest and you sat back a little until your back was pressed to his chest and his flesh arm wrapped around your waist. Othello briefly wandered over, sniffing at Bucky’s hand before he decided whatever the two silly humans were doing wasn’t as interesting as playing tug of war with a piece of rope you’d tied to a tree.

 

The buzzing in Bucky’s palm got louder and more confident as the bee revived itself and when it’s wings fluttered and it hovered above Bucky palm you could feel the pride radiating from the man behind you.

 

“And there he goes, off to keep the human race well fed and the food chain intact.” You said happily as it buzzed away.

 

“I didn’t know they were so important.” Bucky sighed.

 

“Everything is important, in its own way.”

 

“I think you just like saving helpless creatures that land in your rosebushes.” Bucky snorted.

 

“Strong, amazing saviours of the human race that are in need of a little help you mean?” You said with a grin, turning your head to look at him.

 

“You comparing me to a bee?” He sniggered.

 

“Yes honey.” You responded, pleased with yourself for the nickname.

 

He tilted his head so his cheek was pressed to your shoulder and met your eyes with such a tender look it threw you for a second. Until you felt him wipe his damp palm on your knee. You sputtered and his chest rumbled against your back as he buried his face in your neck to stifle his laughter. You dipped your fingers into the glass of water and flicked them at him when he looked up.

 

“Don’t start something you can’t finish darlin’.” He warned.

 

“Who says I won’t finish it?” You challenged, wrapping your hand around the glass and picking it up.

 

His arm tightened around your waist, a wordless reminder of the precarious position you were in and you looked behind you at his smug expression. His eyes narrowed as you casually sipped the water but you just smiled sweetly and put the glass back down.

 

“Can we just sit here for a minute?” He almost whispered, like he was sure you were going to say no.

 

You leaned back into him fully and nodded, you felt a little of the tension melt from him. You ended up staying that way for more than a minute. It was actually closer to thirty and would have been longer if Bucky hadn’t seen Othello edging his way towards the porch.

 

“Othello no!” Bucky yelled, leaping to his feet and running after the dog, only just managing to catch him in time. Othello let out a quiet bark of indignation as Bucky carried him back across the garden, dumping him in your lap.

 

“Did he manhandle you?” You gasped sympathetically, dragging your fingers through Othello’s fur.

 

“You’re welcome for stopping our dog from running straight across wet varnish.” Bucky scoffed.

 

You sniggered at the affronted look on Bucky’s face and kept cooing at the dog rolling around in your lap.

 

“I’m going to go finish varnishing, then while it’s drying I can get to work on your swing.” He said, looking down on you and Othello with soft eyes.

 

“Ok sweetheart.” You agreed.

 

“Keep him away from the porch. As cute as little pawprints would be, I don’t think it would be good for his paws.” Bucky called over his shoulder as he walked away.

 

“Oh no, we don’t want to varnish your toes.” You cringed, rubbing Othello’s paws.

 

Othello relished in the attention for a while, letting you pepper him with kisses and scratches before he got bored, running back to his game of tug of war with the tree, letting you get back to your roses.

 

When you finished and headed back towards the house you saw Bucky had painted about three quarters of the porch, painting from the outside and boxing himself back in towards the door. So you couldn’t walk across the porch.

 

“Catch me.” You warned Bucky, backing up so you had a running start.

 

Anyone else would have probably told you to just use the front door but not Bucky, no Bucky immediately opened his arms and waited for you to run up the steps and leap across the porch. You crashed into his chest with an “oomph” and he didn’t flinch in the slightest, catching you easily. Because of the way you’d jumped, your arms were around his neck and your legs hanging limply and you only just managed to stop yourself automatically wrapping them around his waist. It didn’t help that his metal arm was wrapped around your thighs, propped just under your ass.

 

You were an idiot. You should have just walked around the house. Because now you were in an extremely precarious position and instead of just putting you down, he was holding onto you and gazing into your eyes. The corners of his lips were turned up and before you could catch yourself, your eyes flickered to his mouth. Your heart was thundering in your chest so much it was echoing through your body, making it feel like his heart was thundering against your chest where you were pressed together. Which meant he could tell, he could feel it, he knew you were nervous.

 

“Well that was terrifying. I’m never doing that again.” You covered with a self-deprecating laugh.

 

“Why? I’ll catch you everytime darlin’.” He said gently, his mouth twisting into a frown.

 

“I believe you.” You said automatically, patting his shoulder to encourage him to put you down, which after a moment he did.

 

As you walked into the kitchen and washed your hands in the sink you realized you’d lied to him. You didn’t believe him, not really. There was at least one occasion where he wouldn’t, couldn’t catch you. If you fell, he wouldn’t catch you. You needed to get a grip of yourself and remember everything you’d told yourself this morning.

 

You could not fall in love with Bucky Barnes.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - I hope you liked this chapter as much as I did. I love bee’s and I could picture that scene in my head so clearly. SAVE THE BEES!


	9. Chapter 9

With the blanket of darkness as night fell, came a chill in the air that you were convinced meant the turn of fall into Winter. Your breath fogged up in front of you, crystallising in the air. Othello’s rapidly wagging tail was the only part of him you could see as he raced through the woods ahead of you, sniffing at every single leaf with a single-minded determinedness.

 

“I think I can finish up the porch tomorrow, that way I can work on the inside of the house once the weather gets bad.” Bucky mused, breaking the comfortable silence.

 

He was walking beside you, so close you could feel the heat radiating from him.  The darker it got, the colder it got, and you were more than half tempted to curl into his side.

 

“I’m going to make a fire-pit tomorrow. I have everything I need for it, there are bricks and stuff in the back of the shed and I have a you-tube video to walk me through it.” You decided.

 

In your head, you could still see that vision of the three of you cuddled on the porch, firelight warming you as snow fell around you.

 

He broke you out of your daydream with a low disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head at something and making tendrils of hair fall into his eyes.

 

“This is so normal. Making plans about tomorrow that don’t involve infiltrating secret bases or hunting down terrorists.” He snorted.

 

“This is life. It’s the moments in between the heroics.” You said softly.

 

“Not for me. Those moments don’t exist for me.” He argued forlornly.

 

If he listened carefully he might have heard the shattering of your heart at his words. You knew his history, the whole world did, but you hadn’t realised how much it had taken from him. He didn’t have hope, he didn’t believe that he could have this, that his place here could be permanent. Your determination to make him feel at home with you increased.

 

And as much as it was for him, it was also because you didn’t want to lose him from your life. He had taken you from a safe but boring and meaningless existence to a tranquil and happy life with his presence.

 

“They do now. If you want them, if you want this. You can have it all if you want it, The Avengers are your cause and your family and Othello and I… we can be those moments in between.” You offered hopefully, letting the longing in your voice shine through.

 

He stopped dead on the path, the stray rays of moonlight that had made it through the trees illuminating him and the almost wounded confusion in his eyes.

 

“Why?” He asked hoarsely.

 

It was a loaded question if ever you had heard one and he had converted so much with that one word.  Why would you offer something to a literal stranger? Was it pity, or something nefarious?

 

“I’m not lonely when you’re here, and I’m not drained by your presence. You’re the kind of person I didn’t thing existed and the friend I never thought I had. I won’t make you stay, and I’ll be ok if you go, but I would be so happy if you stayed, so so happy Bucky.” You told him.

 

He looked almost pained, torn, and wary. You could tell he wanted to believe you, and he probably did, but if you had been through what he had, you’d have trust issues as well. It was probably not that he didn’t trust you, it was probably life itself he was suspicious of.

 

That was something you could understand at least. The only worse than being hopeless, was having your hopes dashed. It was easier and safer to just push everyone away and protect yourself.  There was only so many times you could get burned before you stopped playing with fire.

 

But Bucky Barnes had woken something in you that had been long forgotten. A yearning, tugging at your heart, pulling you back into the flames. A desire to be known, to be cared for, to be anything but alone.

 

The unspoken pain held heavy in the air between you, two lonely people with very different pasts who had found themselves in the same place, desperately hoping that the other could be their haven from all of the trauma.

 

“Earlier today, I realised something. How easy it is here with you, how right it feels. I thought I should be worried about that, but now I know it feels right because it is right. I want to keep coming back, to be apart of your life and have you be a part of mine.” He admitted, stepping towards you.

 

Your heart somersaulted in your chest and you exhaled in relief, your lips curling up at the edges as he stood in front of you, the pain melting from his eyes and being replaced with warmth.

 

“BOOF!”

 

“And your life buddy, I wanna be in your life too.” Bucky chuckled as Othello raced back to you, skidding the last few feet so he could look up at you both.

 

Laughter bubbled out of you as Bucky knelt down and gave a very grateful Othello some enthusiastic scritches.

 

“I’m pretty sure he feels the same way as I do.” You assured.

 

“Oh? And how’s that darlin’?” Buck asked cheekily, glancing up at you.

 

“That you’re far too useful to get rid of.” You said innocently.

 

“And here I was thinking that you liked me for more than my DIY skills.” Bucky snorted, standing up.

 

“Of course we do. You make great hot chocolate as well.” You offered.

 

“Well so long as you know I’m only sticking around for your cooking.” He retorted.

 

“Hey, I gave you two reasons.” You objected, giving up on the self-restraint and tucking yourself into his side.

 

“Fine, and your reading materials.” He relented.

 

“Your DIY skills, your hot chocolate and your pretty face.” You teased, smirking up at him, grinning widely when the moonlight reflected off of the red tint on his cheeks.

 

“You think I’m pretty?” He asked, half-amused, half-embarrassed.

 

“The prettiest.” You chirped.

 

“BOOF!”

 

“The second prettiest.” You amended.

 

His chest rumbled as he chuckled at your and Othello’s antics as he tightened his arm around you and held you close as he led you back to the house.

 

It felt like a weight had been lifted off of your shoulders now that you had laid your cards on the table and Bucky’s tenure here had been extended indefinitely, but that weight had now made itself at home in your heart. Bucky might not be going anywhere, but neither were your growing feelings for him….


	10. Chapter 10

You awoke with a start, your heart leaping into your chest as your eyes searched the darkness for whatever had disturbed your slumber. You jumped at the shadowy figure by your door until your eyes adjusted and you recognised the shape of your dog, sniffing at the door handle.

 

“Othello?” You whispered into the darkness.

 

He let out a low-pitched whine, pawing at the door. There was a loud bang from down the hall and even before your brain had registered it came from Bucky’s room, you were on your feet. As you flew out of the door and into the dark hallway you heard it, a soul wrenching yell that made you stumble in panic. Your mind immediately conjured up a multitude of terrifying scenarios, but they were quelled by Othello’s calmness. If there were someone in the house then his hackles would be raised. Bucky was alone in his room, and likely asleep.

 

“Bucky?” You called out as softly as you could while still being loud.

 

There was no answer and you knocked on the door before you pressed your ear to it, listening intently. It didn’t seem to have any effect and your heart squeezed. He was in there alone, trapped in a nightmare. You wanted to go to him but you knew that wasn’t a wise idea. He was a super soldier with a metal arm, all it would take would be one ill-timed thrash in his sleep and you could be seriously injured. You weren’t afraid of that, and you’d suffer a few broken bones for his sake but he would never forgive himself. You couldn’t do that him.

 

“Speak.” You commanded Othello, hoping his loud boofs would break into Bucky’s subconscious and wake him up.

 

Like the good boy he was, Othello did as he was asked. His loud barks thundered through the hallway and after a few moments the whimpers from inside Bucky’s room quieted down.

 

“Bucky?” You called out again, hopeful this time.

 

There was silence for a moment and then the door swung open without any warning whatsoever, and you lost you balance. You landed against something equally as solid as the door and an arm wrapped around your waist, steadying you. You looked up into the guilt-stricken face of Bucky, your heart contracting painfully in your chest before it completely shattered. His hair was matted to his forehead, soaked through with the sweat that was dripping down his face. It was the shame brewing like a storm in his eyes that hurt the most.

 

“I woke you.” He said, his voice thick with sleep and hoarse with disgrace.

 

He stepped away from you, swallowing thickly as his arm uncurled from your waist. You thought he might just need space but he looked down with a gaze that burned with longing, watching his hand as it moved further from you. He wanted the comfort, but he was holding himself back. Blinking away the burn of oncoming tears you stepped closer, closing the gap once again.

 

“Everyone has nightmares Bucky, being woken up by someone else’s isn’t a bad thing.” You whispered, reaching out and brushing his hair off his skin.

 

His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks as he closed his eyes, leaning into your touch. Othello’s side pressed against your leg and you watched him sniff at Bucky’s metal hand before he pushed his head against it, tail banging against the door as he wagged it. When you looked back up at Bucky his eyes were open and glistening.

 

“I’m sorry.” He croaked.

 

“You don’t need to be. Of all the things that have woken me up in the middle of the night, this isn’t something I begrudge. If I had a nightmare would you have come to comfort me?”

 

“Of course.” He hissed straight away, eyes darting across your face like he was looking for any sign that you _had_ had a nightmare.

 

“Imagine it. Hearing me having a nightmare and then hearing me apologise for it.” You prompted him softly.

 

He let out a deep shuddering breath, the tension melting from his shoulders as the breath was released.

 

“I wouldn’t want you to apologise, because you’d have nothing to be sorry for. And you don’t want me to apologise, because I have nothing to be sorry for.” He said.

 

His wording of it made you smile at him. He’d said he had nothing to be sorry for, not that you thought he had nothing to be sorry for. He understood. His arm found its place around your waist again and he gently pulled you into his body, leaning his head down to bury it in the crook of your neck. You could feel his other arm twitching as he stroked Othello, and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, holding his as tight as you could.

 

In the drama of it all, you had failed to notice what he was wearing until now. Or not wearing to be specific. His lack of a shirt seemed unimportant until you were pressed against his bare skin, but now it seemed incredibly pertinent. You had to have a metaphorical wrestling match with your hormones to beat them into submission, calming the hyperactive butterflies in your stomach. It was fairly easy to get yourself under control for once, as gorgeous as he was; there were more important things going on. Still, the shameful lust lingered in your blood, thrumming just below the surface of your skin. You doubted it would ever truly go away.

 

Right now though, you were more concerned with how he was feeling as opposed to how he felt against you.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” You whispered into his hair.

 

“No.” He responded, his voice muffled by your skin.

 

That was ok. You wouldn’t have either, in his place. You wouldn’t want to bring the nightmare into the light. If he’d said yes, you would have listened, but you didn’t take his refusal personally.

 

“Do you want me to make you breakfast?” You offered.

 

If there was a problem, throwing sugar at it seemed to be a good idea. Besides, it was early but morning anyway. You could cope with being up for the day.

 

“Yes please.” He grunted, and you could feel him smiling into your neck.

 

“You go get dressed and I’ll meet you in the kitchen?” You asked.

 

He squeezed you a little harder, almost lifting you off the ground in his exuberance before he reluctantly released you, but not before a kiss was pressed against your temple. He smiled so sweetly at you as he backed away, further into the room. You tore your eyes away from the rippling muscles off his back as he picked up a shirt.  

 

“I don’t know why you bother wearing clothes around here, they always end up coming off.” You groaned under your breath.

 

He stilled, fresh t-shirt hanging limply from his hand as he slowly turned his head to stare at you. You’d forgotten about that pesky super soldier hearing again.

 

“Uhhh.” You whimpered intelligently.

 

“Darlin’, if you want me to take my clothes off then you just gotta say the word.” He said lowly, and you saw the sparkle in his eye.

 

You _almost_ called his bluff, just to give the tease a taste of his own medicine, but your nerve failed you. You were afraid that no matter how hard you tried to dress it up as a joke, he would hear the thinly concealed desire in your voice.

 

“You want to try doing woodwork in the buff, be my guest, but don’t come crying to me when you get splinters in _awkward_ places.” You scoffed.

 

You knew he’d caught your drift when he winced and you backed out of the doorway, leaving your forced laughter behind as you wandered down the hall. His hurried footsteps soon followed you and by the time you reached the top of the stairs you had one of your boys in front of you and the other so close behind that you could feel the heat radiating off him. Othello bounded ahead, taking the stairs two at a time and skidding into the kitchen, making Bucky laugh. You couldn’t help the wide smile that crossed your face at the sound. You were worried about him, and so glad to hear him show any kind of joy or amusement.

 

Still… sugar was sorely needed. You switched the oven on to pre-heat while Bucky opened the back door to let Othello outside.

 

“How do you feel about cinnamon rolls?” You asked him, turning the coffee machine on.

 

“I feel really good about them.” He said seriously, coming to stand next to you.

 

You opened the freezer and rummaged around, placing bags and containers in Bucky’s outstretched arms. He dutifully took everything off of you, eyeing them with interest. You preferred to do your own baking but you did have a selection of pre-bought cinnamon rolls, maple pecan plaits and croissants so all you had to do was pop them in the oven. Bucky followed you as you moved around the kitchen, passing you things before you even had the chance to ask for them and making low content noises in the back of his throat whenever you brushed a hand across his back or his arm. By the time you had the pastries in the oven and the kitchen was filled with the smell of brewing coffee, he seemed much calmer.

 

As soon as you closed the oven door on the last tray, his fingers wrapped around your wrist and he gently tugged you into his torso, his arms once again finding their home around you.

 

“Is this ok?” He asked.

 

You rested your forearms on his shoulders so you could run your fingers through his hair while you answered.

 

“Trust me, this is as good for me as it is for you.” You quipped.

 

“I just don’t want to… make you uncomfortable.” He frowned.

 

“I thought we discussed this?”

 

“I know you want me here, that doesn’t mean you want me all over you.” He scoffed ruefully.

 

“Bucky please, I love having you all over me.” You said without thinking, only realising how it sounded a moment too late.

 

He didn’t seem to hear the double entendre, he just smiled at you almost wistfully.

 

“Boof.”

 

You turned your head to see Othello stood just inside the door, watching you both with a very judgemental look on his face.

 

“Foods not ready yet, I promise buddy.” Bucky snorted.

 

Othello barked happily at him in response and turned around, running back outside.

 

“He loves you already, stop bribing him with food.” You laughed.

 

“Hypocrite.” Bucky scoffed.

 

“Hey! I don’t feed him treats to make him like me.” You objected.

 

“Not him.” He said knowingly, smirking at you.

 

You opened your mouth to respond and then promptly closed it again while you thought about what he’d said. He may have a slight point, you did spent even more time in the kitchen when he was here.

 

“Yeah, alright, that’s fair.” You huffed, smooshing your face into his shoulder.

 

His chest rumbled as he laughed at you and put his hands on your waist, picking you up like you weighed nothing and setting you down on the counter. It was a harmless manoeuvre, or it would have been if that didn’t leave him standing between your legs.

 

“What are you doing?” You gasped nervously.

 

“You’re not a morning person, not without coffee.” He pointed out, nodding towards the coffee pot.

 

“Oh.”

 

Why he needed you sat here while he made coffee, you didn’t know. Why he wasn’t moving away yet you didn’t understand either.

 

“You alright doll?”

 

“M’fine.” You lied, swallowing thickly.

 

He looked like he didn’t quite believe you and he cocked his head to the side, fixing you with a undecipherable look. Your legs were parted enough that you weren’t touching him, but you could still feel him there. His hands were resting on the counter on either side of you, his arms caging you in. You were suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of him and how he had surrounded you, filling all of your senses. You wanted to look away, you _should_ look away before he saw something in your eyes that he shouldn’t see, but you were absolutely trapped in the depths of his eyes, drowning in the stormy blue of them. You could hear his shallow pants of breath, the rustling of his clothes as he moved. His scent was all over you, a tinge of sweat that was neither pleasant nor unpleasant, and underneath it was the warm scent that was all his own. There was only one sense left, one sense that he hadn’t taken.

 

Taste.

 

As soon as you thought it, your eyes flickered down to his lips. They parted ever so slightly and you forced yourself to breathe.

 

“Sure you’re alright?” He whispered.

 

You nodded slowly, not trusting your voice not to betray you. You needed to snap out of this, now. You had promised yourself you weren’t going to do this, yet here you were. These kinds of feelings would only cause you pain, because he wouldn’t reciprocate them. It didn’t matter how badly you wanted to kiss him right now, he was never going to kiss you, even if he was slowly leaning in.

 

Wait.

 

He was leaning in.

 

Your breath caught in your chest, held stagnant in your lungs as you froze up. His lips hovered just inches from yours and then he flinched to the side, pressing a kiss against your cheek.

 

“Alright darlin’, if you say so. I’ll get your coffee.” He said quietly, stepping away.

 

You relearned how to breathe, gasping for air as soon as his back was turned. When you heard the clink of mugs you let your head thump back against the cabinets and silently groaned.

 

You were so screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you like this update. If you have any comments/notes/questions, feel free to drop them below and as always, I love you guys 💖💖💖

**Author's Note:**

> I just needed to write something soul warming for myself personally. This is my personal comfort fic, so hopefully someone else gets a little comfort from it as well. Feel free to drop a comment, comments make the author feel loved.


End file.
